


Changing the Rules

by spacedmuch



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-21 15:17:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1554938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacedmuch/pseuds/spacedmuch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of Paracelsus, a re-purposed Time Machine draws Helena G. Wells back to the Warehouse after an extended absence. A cancer-free Myka finds herself, once again, faced with the one person she can't seem to help putting before everything else, even the Warehouse. </p><p>A post 5x01 time travel adventure featuring an infuriatingly charming Victorian inventor, a slightly pissed off not-ex-but-something, and a daring 19th century rescue mission against the best advice of all else involved. Flirtatious escapades, drama, romance, and hopefully sufficient sass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Curiosity

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Time After Time](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/47924) by Manda. 



> I miss H. G. Wells at my Warehouse.  
> This is the result.

_Helena drew closer to Myka, a twinkle in her eyes and a knowing smirk gracing her lips._

_She stepped forward, invading the taller woman's territory._

_"If you didn’t believe me," she said, "just a little," she smiled before taking a step closer, "you'd have shot me by now."_

_Helena's face was mere inches from her own, and it was like everything around her had fallen away. All that Myka could see in that moment was Helena G. Wells. She moved to touch her, but the ever elusive inventor danced back out of her reach and walked towards the door. She placed a hand on the door frame, stopping as she reached the entrance._

_Helena glanced back over her shoulder, her face turning from playful to serious._

_"Myka, I-" she began._

_A shot rang out, silencing her midsentence._

_Helena looked surprised as she stumbled back into the room, turning to face Myka fully._

_Another round discharged from somewhere._

_Myka opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She tried to move towards Helena, but her body refused to cooperate. Instead she simply watched as blood soaked through the pale blue cotton of her shirt. It bloomed out from her chest, spreading rapidly like a flower before disintegrating into a wet, dripping, deadly mess._

_She watched as Helena swayed before toppling back, her body hitting the ground with a resounding thud._

_It felt like time had stopped as she watched Helena bleed out before her, the light in her eyes beginning to dim._

_There was pain._

_The realization came crashing into Myka as she found the target of the second bullet. She clasped her hands over her abdomen and looked down, only to find blood seeping rapidly through her fingers. She watched with morbid fascination as the life poured out of her. She unfroze and stumbled towards Helena, collapsing just short of her._

_The two women stared at each other across the divide. There were so many things to be said._

_"You would have made an excellent mother Myka Bering," Helena whispered, as Myka watched the light go out in those brilliant dark eyes._  

_**_

 

 **Featherstone Surgical Hospital**  
Featherstone, South Dakota  
April 14, 2014  
11:15am

Myka gasped as her eyes sprang open, her senses suddenly overwhelmed with fluorescent light and the overwhelming smell of hospital grade disinfectant. She felt herself bolt upright, only to have a cry slip unbidden from her lips as a burning pain seared through her abdomen and forced her back down. 

As she breathed deeply, biting her lip against the pain, her mind began to catch up. Her heart rate slowed as relief flooded through her. H. G. Wells (now Emily Lake), was safe and sound in Boone, Wisconsin. She hadn't been shot, her consciousness hadn't been destroyed and she certainly hadn't died in an explosion that existed only in Myka's overactive imagination. It was just another dream; another variation of the multiple scenarios which seemed to plague her sleep from time to time.

Ever since becoming aware of the alternate timeline which had been erased by the Astrolabe, Myka's mind had come up with some exceptionally creative ways in which to kill the Victorian inventor. They ranged from self sacrifices through to death in the line of duty.

The curly headed brunette blinked through her post surgical haze, forcing her emotions to the rear of her mind. Her subconscious was an asshole whom liked to demand her attention when it came to the 19th century author. It liked to remind her of the existence of H. G. Wells, when all Myka wanted to do was forget that she even existed. They hadn't spoken in close to a year, and although Myka felt the absence of the other woman's presence quite keenly in the beginning, it seemed to get easier as the months passed.

As always, the sharp twang of overwhelming grief and loss faded as quickly as it had arisen. Normally it would pass into the nether as she went about her morning routine. However, today, her relief was to be short-lived. 

Myka Bering had awoken from one nightmare, only to find herself plunged into another. As she finally oriented herself to her surroundings, the reality of her current situation came crashing down around her.

_Hospital._

_Cancer._

_Surgery._

As she took in her stark surroundings, she registered the itch of the tape across her IV line, the regular beeps of the monitors around her, and the small waves of pain emanating from her abdomen. Her breath hitched as she felt the panic rise in her chest, clawing its way to the surface and trying to smother the last of her strength and resolve. The agent clasped a hand across her mouth with more force than necessary as she attempted to muffle a sudden sob. 

She had no idea what was coming next.

As someone who prided herself on meticulous planning and absolute control, she despised being at the mercy of something she herself could not fix.

Was it gone? Did they get it all? Or was Dream Helena right? Was she going to lose everything she never knew she wanted, and maybe even her life?

As she looked around the room, she realized she was alone. She had done everything in her power to ensure they would all stay away and let her get through this with as much dignity as she could muster. It was what she had wanted. Or at least she thought she did. Yet, right now she was absolutely fucking terrified and there was no one there to cling to. No Pete, no Artie, no Claudia. There was nothing she could do to assuage the ice cold fear in her veins. 

With that thought in mind - Myka Bering, agent of Warehouse 13, curled onto her side and cried.

**

A couple of hours later, her Oncologist visited her in her room.

_Benign._

She cried again.

Just like that, it was all over.

It seemed almost a little anti-climactic.  

**

 

 **Warehouse 13**  
Univille, South Dakota  
April 14, 2014  
8:30pm

It had been a long day.

In less than 24 hours, Myka Bering had managed surgery, time travel, and the defeat of a psychotic immortal hell-bent on torturing humans in the name of scientific advancement. As she shook her hand out after giving Pete a well-deserved thump, she knew, despite what she said about the Warehouse _always_ coming first, that there would always be exceptions to the rule. Four of them stood by her side every single day, and the other – well, the other was currently playing house in Boone, Wisconsin.

With Paracelsus and Paracelsus v2.0 both secured, the team finally managed to leave the Warehouse, albeit exhausted. As Myka walked out of the umbilicus into the fresh air, she touched a hand lightly to her stomach.

Pete looked over at her, concern in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Be that as it may, you’re on leave. As of now,” Artie ordered.

“Bu – “ she began, before he raised his finger.

“No buts! That’s an order,” he said gruffly.

Myka sighed, rolling her eyes, a slight smirk dancing at the edges of her mouth. Artie looked at her pointedly, and she raised her hands in the air. “Alright, alright! But I’m not staying in bed, just so you know.”

Artie rolled his eyes before climbing into Pete and Myka’s SUV. Claudia sidled up beside her and gently looped her arm through Myka’s. “I’m glad you’re okay. Really glad.”

The tall brunette looked down at the shorter girl and smiled. “Me too Claude,” she said before pulling the girl a little closer, taking comfort in her presence. 

As they drove away from the Warehouse, Pete looked back at her and nodded. They were okay. They’d all live to fight another day.

“Eyes on the road Pete,” Myka barked.

She found herself smiling as relieved chuckles finally broke through the tension of the day.

**  
The sun was beginning to go down as they pulled up to the B&B. Artie was grumbling about new vehicles and explanations to rental companies as he pushed open the door. As Myka began to climb out, the loud bang of a door slamming back on its hinges caused her to look up.

A lithe brunette came flying out of the doorway, stopping short a few yards from the SUV.

“Are you all alright!?” she demanded, her accent giving her away before Myka’s eyes could even register the sight before her. She watched, dumbstruck, as the Englishwoman took stock of their numbers. Myka couldn’t help but smirk as she watched a flash of embarrassment cross the face of the ‘Father of Science Fiction’.

“Oh...“ H. G. muttered, before she gathered herself and nodded, apparently satisfied they were all still breathing.

“Well, alright then,” she nodded again, hands on her hips, before catching Artie’s glare. “I’ll just be inside,” she began, turning away. “When you’re ready,” she called out over her shoulder as she walked back into the B&B.

Pete turned to look at her, confusion on his face, “Ready for what?” he asked. 

Myka rolled her eyes and glanced to her left as she watched Artie storm towards the front door. Pete followed her gaze and winced before remembering exactly who would be on the receiving end of the Director's wrath.

“I would _not_ want to be H. G. right now,” he chanted, grinning sadistically.

Despite having buried the majority of their hatchets, Pete still loved seeing the pompous author put in her place. 

Myka smacked him again before grabbing his arm and dragging him towards the B&B.

As they entered the front door, they could see Artie advancing on Helena. The inventor was standing in the middle of the living room, pacing back and forth whilst fiddling nervously with her locket. Despite his exhaustion the older man leapt immediately on the offensive, demanding answers from the 147 year old Victorian whom, after proclaiming she wanted nothing to do with the Warehouse (and by extension, anyone in it, Myka thought to herself, with only a hint of bitterness) was suddenly standing in the middle of the B&B.

“What did you do?” Artie growled.

H. G. took a step back, raising her hands in surrender.

“I didn’t _do_ anything," she began, "I thought it had been quite some time since I had seen my friends, so I thought I would pop by for a visit. Last time I checked that was legal in this century, or was I misinformed?” she said sarcastically, as Steve and Claudia entered the room to join them.

Myka shook her head as she watched Helena struggle under the scrutiny of the five agents. For someone who had proven herself ever so good at lying in the past, she was currently doing a terrible job at it.

The inventor looked over at Myka hoping for some back-up, only to be met with something akin to a brick wall. The taller agent's arms were crossed and she was looking directly at Helena with suspicion.

“I did promise Myka a cup of coffee not so long ago,” she said, smiling hopefully, and a little boldly in the brunette’s direction.

Myka couldn’t help the scoff that escaped her lips. She rolled her eyes. It had been _months_  since she had heard from, or laid eyes on Helena. Their so called 'friendship' had faded into nothingness. The former Warehouse agent was apparently quite content with her lot, off playing house with Captain America in Boone-bloody-Wisconsin.  
  
Helena’s smile faltered as she watched Myka. She didn't have much of a chance to dissect the expressions on the taller woman's face however, as Artie was quick to jump back on the offensive.

“Coffee!?” Artie barked. “We have an emergency in the Warehouse, involving _your_ Time Machine no less, and suddenly you  _miraculously_ appear to have a friendly chit-chat over coffee with one of my agents!?" he said, waving his arms around to accentuate his sarcasm. "It's the middle of the week and a ten hour drive from Wisconsin, Agent Wells!”

“Well,” Helena held up a finger, “it’s a one hour flight actually, but that’s beside th – “

“Enough!” Artie growled, before pointing at a chair. “Sit!” he ordered. 

Helena did as she was told (for once) and sat down as directed.

“You four. Kitchen. Now!” he ordered as he rounded on the four agents standing closely behind him.

The older man stormed off, and Myka found herself glancing at Helena, before turning away following the rest of her team.

“You’re all smart individuals,” Artie began as he closed the doors, “and I shouldn’t need to point this out to _any_ of you,” he looked directly at Myka as he spoke, “but there seems to be a history of _erratic_ behaviour amongst my Agents whenever H.G. Wells shows up.”

Artie looked at each of them in turn before continuing.

“There will be no discussion of today’s events in the presence of that woman. I will explain what happened when I see fit. And,” he paused, raising a finger, “you will all nod in agreement. There will be no embellishments,” he looked pointedly at Pete, before turning to Claudia, “no technical chit-chats,” and then focussing on Myka, he spoke the next words slowly, and clearly, as if to ensure not a single word would be missed, “and most importantly not one single _word_ uttered about successful time travel in the presence of H. G. bloody-Wells. Do I make myself clear?”

They all nodded, even Steve, although he felt he was being unfairly included in this conversation. He knew the story. He wasn't an idiot.

As they filed back into the living room, Helena was sitting there, tinkering idly with her locket, her thoughts far away. She pulled herself back from ever she was and looked around at them.

“Do you all have clearance to speak to me now?” she said petulantly, her arms crossing defensively across her chest as she got to her feet.  
  
“Wisconsin has really done _wonder_ s for that personality,” Pete muttered sarcastically, just loud enough to ensure the inventor heard.

Helena glared at him across the room.

“You,” Artie pointed at Helena, “enough with the attitude. I want the truth Agent Wells. Now! Before I call in the Regents and have you teaching High School English again, and this time, it’ll be in New Zealand!” he barked.

The Brit threw up her hands dramatically.

“Oh alright then, I may have placed a small monitor on _my_ Time Machine before I left," she said, her eyes flitting to Claudia's momentarily.

Artie glanced over at the younger agent suspiciously as she suddenly appeared very interested in a picture of Pete and Myka on a side table. 

"Go on," he growled. 

"I got wind of a little... _curiosity_ in the shape of an abnormal power fluctuation today. When I couldn't get in touch with any of you, I grew concerned. As I no longer have any access to the Farnsworth frequencies,” she stared accusingly at Artie, “I thought I would come to ensure you were all alright,” she explained.

“Apparently I needn’t have bothered,” she added, the petulance returning to her voice. 

“No, you _needn’t_ have! First thing tomorrow you  _and_ Claudia will remove your little addition to the Warehouse inventory; and any others, I might add," he ordered. 

“And?” Helena asked defiantly, hands on hips, with chin raised in defiance.

“And, nothing. Get it done. Then you can go back to Wisconsin. Pete and Myka seem to think you’re happy there. Go, be happy, and stay out of my Warehouse!” he barked, before the wind dropped out of his sails and his shoulders slumped exhaustedly. 

Sighing, he looked around at the rag tag group before him.

“Now, if you all don’t mind, I’m tired.”

He accentuated his statement by pulling his glasses off and rubbing gently at the bridge of his nose.

“All of you get some rest,” he paused, “Particularly you,” he said to Myka directly before he could catch himself.

He shook his head and then looked apologetically at tall brunette. She brushed it off tiredly, and waved him on.

“Go get some sleep Artie,” she said, her voice slightly resigned.

He nodded before retiring upstairs.

“Right, well, that’s my cue,” Steve spoke as he clapped his hands together. “H. G, nice seeing you again,” he smiled. “Claude, you coming?”

Claudia looked at the inventor, “You’ll definitely be here tomorrow?” she asked.

Helena looked at her and nodded, “Of course dear, Arthur would have my head,” she smiled.

The young red-head grinned before launching forward and pulling the inventor into a quick hug. The older woman looked shocked, before clasping her arms around the young agent briefly and smiling. Claudia blushed slightly as she pulled away and whirled around to follow Steve upstairs, leaving Pete, Myka and Helena alone in the living room.

Myka straightened her back and resisted the urge to rest her hand protectively across her abdomen. Helena was eyeing her carefully, and Myka wanted to take a step back from the scrutiny. She felt like she was a specimen under one of the forensic scientist's microscopes. She knew it had been too much to hope that the Victorian had missed Artie's little slip. 

Pete looked between them, and sighed, the all too familiar feeling of being a third wheel in one of their silent conversations was creeping over him. He had never understood these two, and Myka had refused to discuss it with him. After he drove her away from Boone all those months ago, he knew she was crushed. He wasn't sure he could explain why, because he was certain that nothing had ever happened between the two agents - but he would have had to have been an idiot not to see that there definitely  _something._ The two of them together, with all the long stares and unspoken statements made him uncomfortable. He decided to extricate himself from the situation before the tension got any worse. Frankly, Myka looked pissed. 

“Mykes, I’m beat. You be okay?” he asked, while exaggerating a yawn and a stretch.

She rolled her eyes and smiled, “I’m fine Pete, go get some sleep. I’ll make pancakes in the morning.”

He gave her a big goofy grin before crossing the room and clutching her to his chest.

“Try not to...” he began, directing his words to Helena over Myka's shoulder, before shaking his head.

"Just don't keep her up too late," he said pointedly before releasing Myka and clomping his way to his room.

Myka stood there, staring at Helena before folding her arms protectively across her chest. She listened for the familiar sound of Pete's door closing above them, then she simply shook her head and turned towards the kitchen. 

Helena followed silently behind her and watched as the taller brunette entered the room and began pulling a teapot out of the cupboard, busying herself with making tea. The silence was palpable. As it dragged on, the inventor finally couldn't take it anymore. 

“Are you cross with me, darling?” she asked.

Myka sighed, pouring water into the teapot, watching it steep for a moment before gently replacing the lid. She could think of a number of reasons why she was irritated with the inventor, but none of them were rational or up for discussion. She hadn't exactly made much effort to contact the older woman either. After one or two missed calls, and a courteous voicemail here and there, it appeared both of them had simply given up, choosing to take the easy route and just leave well enough alone. Whenever they found themselves in the same vicinity, things just seemed to get more complicated.   
  
Myka ignored the question and looked around for teacups. Spotting a couple on the second shelf, she began to reach up as Helena started to speak again.   
  
"Look, now I know I haven't been the best - " the inventor began, stopping suddenly as Myka hissed out in pain, pulling her arm back down suddenly.

The Brit was at her side in an instant, concern written all over her face.

"Myka, are you alright?" she asked, worry lacing her tone. 

The younger agent took a step back, waving the author away.

“Yes, I’m fine, just overdid it today," she said.

She looked up at the tea cups, before uttering a short "Would you mind?"

Helena nodded and moved to pull two tea cups down from the shelf, the shorter woman having to stretch considerably.

Myka turned away as the inventors shirt rode up, revealing a toned back.

As she came back down, resting the cups on the counter, Myka thanked her quietly before grasping the pot before her.

"Tea?" she asked. 

Helena nodded.

“Shall we sit outside? It’s a pleasant enough evening, and it’s quite nice not be stuck inside, hunched over a microscope at this hour if I’m honest.”

Myka nodded and reached for a tray, eyeing the cookie jar. She plucked the whole thing up, figuring she would have more than enough time to attempt to bake some more over the next few days. If she followed Artie's orders, that was. 

Helena moved to take the tray and Myka glared.

"Can you get the door?" she asked pointedly.

Suitably chastised, Helena backed away from the tray and walked ahead of the agent.

They moved their way to the porch which over looked the back garden, and Helena busied herself with dusting off the chairs. 

They both sat down quietly, and Helena poured out a cup for each of them as Myka went for the cookie jar. She plucked a couple out and placed them on the edge of her saucer, suddenly aware that she hadn’t eaten since the hospital and it had just gone 9pm.

They both stared out into the garden, before Helena paused, her tea half-way to her lips. “Are you going to tell me, or will I be forced to pry?”

Myka finished her cookie and brushed her hands, before reaching for her tea cup. “It was nothing, an ovarian cyst.”

Helena clutched her tea cup tighter, “Cancer?” she asked, as nonchalantly as she could manage.

“Benign,” Myka responded casually.

Helena turned then, placing her cup down on the table. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Myka turned to face the older brunette. “Like I said, it was nothing,” she stated as she took a sip from her cup.

“Even so, I would hope that you would call me if –“

“If _what_ Helena? I’m not dying, and you have a family now, a child to care for. I’m not going to call you every time I stub my toe,” Myka replied, a little more harshly than she intended.

She sighed, placing her tea cup down.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. It’s just that everyone’s been fussing, and I’m fine,” she looked across and caught the Victorian’s eyes.

“Honestly Helena, I’m fine. It was a low invasive surgery, barely even a scar.”

The inventor let out a breath and smiled, “Good. That’s good.”

“It is good,” Myka replied, before picking her tea back up.

Helena made the decision not to pry into Myka's earlier mood, choosing instead to steer the conversation towards safer topics. Before long, everything was as it was before between them and the next couple of hours slipped by as the two women sat outside, discussing old discoveries and new.

Around 11pm, the late evening chill began to set in and Myka felt the warmth and comfort of her current company be replaced with a growing sense of dread. As always, tomorrow, Helena would be gone again. Things would return to normal, Bering and Lattimer, solving puzzles and saving the day. In the evenings, she would drift off, alone; hoping for night filled with endless wonder, rather than endless terror.

She pushed the thoughts away, determined not to dwell on what could never be.

“Myka, what is it? You’ve gone awfully quiet all of a sudden," the inventor asked. 

The Warehouse Agent pulled herself together and forced a smile. “Just tired, it’s been a long couple of days. I think it’s time I went to bed," she responded. 

Helena nodded, a pensive look passing across her features. “I suppose you’re right, and I have kept you up long enough. I’ll clean up here if you like; I don’t find myself tired quite yet.”

Myka nodded and rose from her chair, Helena following suit. The agent paused and stared at the woman who was gently stacking their cups and saucers on the tray, her head currently down. There were so many things she wanted to say. She opened her mouth, and then closed it again. Perhaps, despite everything, some things were better off left unsaid.

She opted for a simple, quiet, “Goodnight, Helena,” before turning and walking away.

**

As Helena returned to her room, she began to mull over the events of the day. She hadn’t been lying to Arthur. Her trip from Wisconsin had come from a place of genuine concern for the Agents of Warehouse 13. She had tried to ignore the alerts on her phone which Claudia had helped her set up, but she simply couldn’t. When Myka, Claudia and even Mrs. Fredrick failed to pick up her calls she began working her way through the remaining agents to no avail. She had cursed Arthur for increasing the security on the Farnsworth frequencies, and she certainly wasn't about to involve the Regents. 

However, concern faded quickly into burning curiosity once the Agents had tumbled out of the SUV intact. She had arrived at the B&B barely ten minutes before they had, and was about to drive over to the Warehouse herself.

Arthur may have thought her to be a complete idiot, but the readings she had received from her Time Machine were nothing short of abnormal. Something had happened today that the Agents did not want to discuss with her.

Frankly, she was offended. She had proven herself more than worthy in their last few interactions, assisting quite valiantly in preventing artifact fuelled disasters. Overall, communication between herself and the caretakers of the Warehouse had been left open, should she choose to pursue it.

However, there was a reason she hadn't. There was one, single, very important reason why she had chosen to pull further and further away from them all.

_Myka._

Myka Bering made her question everything she thought she knew about herself. Myka Bering made her long for 'Endless Wonder,' and 'Endless Wonder' simply wasn't good for her, or anyone else who happened to cross paths with her. Myka Bering sent her heart to a place fraught with danger and it simply wouldn't do. She had a terrible habit of destroying the people she loved, and Myka was the last person she wanted to see hurt.

However, right now she was beginning to question a decision she had made almost a year ago. A decision to end her association with the Warehouse, and limit her exposure to one Miss Bering. She could still remember the burning pain in her stomach as she stood in the driveway and watched that SUV pull away. She had felt physically ill.

She paced the length of her old room at the B&B, her thoughts conflicted. This simply wouldn’t do. 

On the one hand, she had a very deep seated suspicion that someone had managed to get her Time Machine to work, the way it was supposed to, and nobody was hurt. Tomorrow Arthur would let her into the Warehouse, and she would hopefully be able to see for herself. Claudia was an easy target, and she felt guilty for the answers she would manipulate from the younger girl in the morning. After she had them, she couldn’t predict what she would do with them.

On the other hand, Myka was so close. Right across the hall the other agent would still be awake, likely reading a book before bed as was always her habit. It would be so easy. She could suck up her pride, go to Myka, apologise for giving her the run around, and see if she was correct in her assumption that the other agent once harboured the same feelings she did – or does.

She paced towards the door, her hand reaching for the handle. She could forget it all, finally close the door on her past, and leap with her heart for the first time in over a century. She could risk everything, including the life she had built for the past year, for the opportunity to act on everything that remained unspoken between them. It could  all be over.

As the cold steel touched her finger tips, she sighed.

She wasn’t that noble.

She let her fingers drift from the knob and placed her hand against the doorframe, resting her head against the wood panelling before her.

“I’m sorry Myka,” she whispered as she turned and walked towards her old desk.

Pulling a pen and notebook from her bag, she sat down and began to plan once again.


	2. Creating Puzzles and Destroying the Day

As Helena descended the stairs the next morning, she heard a curse and crash coming from the vicinity of the kitchen. As she approached the doorway, she couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled up from her throat, despite the weight of guilt that had settled quite nicely in her stomach.

Pancake batter had managed to make its way onto every surface, except in the pan, and this included Myka’s hair. The woman in question was currently standing there in her robe, a finger in her mouth, while the other hand was clutching her foot. Her recent pancake attempt was unfortunately splattered all over the floor.

“I was never particularly skilled in the culinary arts either, darling. Shall I pop to the bakery?”

Myka looked up and scowled, before sighing and giving into the wry grin that Helena seemed to be able to elicit so easily from her. “That might be a good idea. Do you think you could stop by the Pancake House and pick up a stack for Pete?” she mumbled as she pulled her finger from her mouth, inspecting the damage. “I did promise him pancakes this morning, and as you can see,” she said, waving her hand around, “I’m no Leena.”

“Of course,” Helena replied, smirking as she moved closer to the curly headed disaster before her. "Anything else?” she said, her voice lowering an octave as she reached out her hand, gently swiping some batter from Myka’s cheek before drawing it towards her mouth and licking it slowly from her finger, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

In boots, Helena was, for once, at eye level with Myka. She watched as the colour rose gently behind the younger woman’s ears and she was left momentarily lost for words.  
“N-no, that should be..." Myka stammered. "Do you remember..." the agent trailed off as Helena leant forward, gently grasping a strand of batter soaked hair in her fingers before tucking it behind Myka’s ear. “Careful darling,” she began, in mock warning, “you’re staring.” She smiled in glee as the colour flushed further down Myka’s neck.

The Victorian chuckled lightly before pulling away abruptly and sauntering away to the entrance. “I’ll be back shortly!” she called out before disappearing out of the front door, pulling it behind her with a resounding thud.

As the door closed behind her, Helena leant back against the sturdy wood. Her heart pounded against her chest, making her feel more alive than she had in over a year. She loved Nate and Adelaide, she truly did. However, Nate wasn’t Myka; and above all else, Adelaide wasn’t Christina.

If she was about to ruin it all again, to end it before it even had a chance to start, she planned on enjoying every last moment of Myka looking at her with something other than hatred and betrayal.

**

As they sat around the breakfast table together a little while later, Helena was quickly reminded of what she missed at the American Warehouse. Pete and Myka bickered like an old married couple over how much maple syrup should _really_ be put on a pancake, meanwhile Claudia regaled Helena with stories of Steve’s latest (unwilling) conquest. Apparently it had involved ‘a bear’ and an invitation to a pick-up truck. Artie continually muttered something about ‘children,’ although Helena could see he was happy that they had all made it out of their latest scrape alive.  
  
The Brit hadn’t dared to ask what happened yesterday, feigning complete satisfaction from the pure fact that they were all fine. She caught Myka’s gaze across the table and smiled. It felt like home. If this didn’t work, if it was all impossible as she had come to believe, maybe it was time to stop hiding and to start living again. She thought a normal life was the answer, but, if she was truly honest with herself, she felt like she had spent the last year of her life simply waiting to wake up. Watching Adelaide discover and grow was the only thing keeping her going – and one day, it would all end, and she would be left with little else to fill the void left by the Warehouse.

**

Any and all thoughts of leaving Boone, and relocating back to the B&B quickly evaporated after a couple of hours tinkering in the Warehouse with Claudia. After removing her monitoring device(s) under the young agents amused, yet watchful eye, she slowly began to chip away at the details of yesterdays near disastrous events.

At first, Claudia was less than forthcoming with the details, obviously under strict orders to say nothing to one 147 year old author. Yet, as they slowly fell into their old rhythm, bits and pieces began to pour forth under Helena’s carefully veiled questioning. 

It was possible.

By the gods, it was possible.

By the time they had finished, Helena had a fairly good idea of exactly what she needed, and a burning awareness of how little time she had at her disposal. Her biggest obstacle would be collecting the required artifacts unnoticed, particularly the large sundial which had left a significant mark near the site of the Time Machine.

Arthur was busy upgrading the dark vault today, his focus on tightening security after their scare with Paracelsus. Helena knew the name well, having spent significant time in the Bronze sector before making the decision to join its auspicious population. She would always remember how she thought its residents were all mad, yet brilliant. By the time she put her request in to the Regents, she had ‘fit the bill’ perfectly, so to speak.

On the other side of the Warehouse, Pete and Steve were repairing a few of the aisles that were damaged in the attack, and Myka was home, under strict orders from Arthur to get some rest. This relieved her somewhat. Myka was, by far, her biggest threat amongst the agents. She had not exaggerated when she once asked Myka how it was possible to say goodbye to “the one person who knows you better than you know yourself.” The intelligent woman she had come to know so well would know immediately that something was happening in her Warehouse, and who was to blame.

With her biggest threat out of the Warehouse, and the remainder preoccupied, that left only Claudia to deal with. She patted a pocket in her vest where she had slipped Nathaniel Kleitman’s glasses. The ‘Father of American Sleep Research’ and his spectacles would put Claudia into a pleasant REM sleep until someone removed them.

It wasn’t all that difficult to convince Claudia to try them on. “I’m terribly sorry for what I’m about to do Claudia,” she whispered, as she lowered the sleeping red-head to the ground, “but know, had I felt I had any other choice in the matter; I would take it, for all of you.”

She moved quickly then, focussing on the aisles most scientifically suited to the task and searching for the artifacts that vaguely matched Claudia’s descriptions. It wasn’t easy going, her knowledge of Warehouse 13 had previously rested on the computer catalogue and Myka’s perfect memory – neither of which she was willing to try accessing just yet. Schwarzchild’s pocket watch she knew well enough, after spending a quiet afternoon in the library following up on Einstein’s field equations one rainy afternoon. It wasn’t long after she had come back to the Warehouse, and she remembered the moment well, as Myka had slipped in with a pot of tea and ordered her to take a break. It would be the first of many occasions, in which a cup of tea would quickly turn into two or three pots as the two women got carried away in their conversation. She felt a slight pang as she thought back to last night, but she shook it off and carried on searching.

It didn’t take long to locate the telescope and the sundial, and she sighed in relief as she checked her watch. She still had time before lunch, when everyone would no doubt come looking for them and search for volunteers to do the food run.

Her most immediate challenge was relocating the sundial. She tracked down the aisles searching for something to use, until she stumbled across Louis Cyr’s lifting gloves. The French Canadian Strongman was still, even 100 years later, considered to be the strongest man who ever lived. She sincerely hoped the side effect of muscle fatigue was short lived.

When the sundial and the telescope were in place, she shook her head at the simplicity of it all. Now that she understood how Paracelsus had architected the portal, she found she was quite cross with herself, and justifiably so. Perhaps, if she had given herself more time with the Warehouse, she would have discovered this on her own. If she hadn’t been so bloody minded, her sole focus being the Minoan Trident, she could have solved her own 22 minute and 19 second, possession puzzle. Although, as the great Sophocles once wrote, ‘I have no desire to suffer twice, in reality and then in retrospect.’ There was very little use in dwelling on it now. She put her focus on the task at hand, and went in search of the pocket watch.

As she approached the shelf where it was once held, she found it empty. She doubled checked the tag before breathing deeply and straightening her back. She stared at the empty shelf before slamming her fist down and crying out in frustration. She had been foolish. Arthur would never have allowed her into the Warehouse, knowing that all of the puzzle pieces to her hearts greatest desire were within her reach. She had allowed herself to get carried away. She should have known better.

It was highly likely that, even in the case that he didn’t suspect her, he was probably checking up on her now. She turned around and began walking quickly in the direction of the Time Machine. If she was lucky, she may not yet have been discovered, and there would still be time to fix her blunder and revisit this at a later date, with a more clearly developed plan in mind.

As she strolled through the aisles she clutched her locket and looked skyward, nothing but the ceiling of the Warehouse greeting her sight. “I’m sorry my darling,” she whispered to the sky, “I did everything I could today.” She had never been a particularly religious person per se, but the thought of her daughter in the ground was an image she simply couldn’t bear.

**

As she rounded the corner to the Time Machine, her heart stopped in her chest. There, stooped over Claudia’s sleeping form, wasn’t Arthur, as she had expected, but Myka. Her curls were hiding her face, but from the tautness in her shoulders, Helena could tell she was furious.

The Victorian heard Claudia yawn, and watched as she reached up to pat her older colleague on the cheek, uttering a sleepy, “Hiya Mykes,” in the process. 

Helena felt herself beginning to back away before a stern voice reached her from under that bundle of curls. “Stay right where you are H.G.” Myka ordered, before she bagged the glasses and slipped them into her back pocket. The agent rose to her feet, leaving Claudia to recover on her own.

As the tall brunette rounded on her, Helena felt herself flinch. Myka’s face was stony, and from her purple gloved hand dangled the pocket watch that the artificer so desperately needed. Helena froze.

“Looking for something?” Myka growled.

“I –“ the Inventor began, before Myka cut her off rather abruptly.

“Oh just _can it_ H.G. I doubt even _you_ could come up with a story good enough to explain this one away,” Myka spat, before shaking her head and continuing, “You know the worst part of it all? I knew Helena. Deep down, _I knew._ God, how I had hoped I was wrong.” The taller agent paused as she lifted her un-gloved hand to the bridge of her nose and pinched, letting out a sigh. “You were so dead set on convincing me that Wisconsin was the answer, and you know what, I wasn’t happy about it. Yet, I thought that maybe, just _maybe_ it would be enough for you. That Adelaide and Captain America, and that normal life you were so desperately craving would be enough. That it was what you needed to finally let go…” Myka took a small step forward, her eyes boring into Helena’s, “But that’s not you, is it? I knew it then, and I sure as hell know it now!” she cried as she shook the pocket watch in the air, like it was evidence of all of the inventors sins, past and present. “Because, funnily enough Helena, I _know_ you. Do you honestly think I’m stupid? You come racing all the way from Wisconsin for a ‘power fluctuation’ and then fail to ask even a single question about what happened to your time machine yesterday?

 “Myka, I – “ the inventor began again.

“No, Helena! Just stop! I don’t want to hear it anymore!” the Agent cried. “It was never over for you. Artie came to me this morning after you left and asked me what I thought about your sudden appearance. A part of me hoped that maybe it was genuine concern for the Warehouse, for us, for _me._ I asked him to let it me handle it, and I desperately hoped that we wouldn’t end up right where we are now,” the taller woman finished quietly, her hands dropping defeated to her side.

“Tell me H. G, was this all just another end game; another long winded plot in which I inevitably became the pawn once again?” she asked quietly then.

Helena stared at the taller agent and felt physically ill at the pain and betrayal gracing those light, goofy features she had enjoyed only a few short hours before.

“No Myka, that wasn’t it at all,” she said softly as she reached her hands forward in vain. “I know there is very little I can say right now that will convince you, but it was simply blind hope. Hope that maybe there was a way I could safely bring her back, without anyone getting hurt this time. Yet, it would seem, I have succeeded in hurting the one person I spend my life trying to keep away from the trail of devastation I leave in my wake.”

Myka watched as the tears welled in the shorter woman’s eyes. She hated herself for believing in her, yet again, but nightmares clawed at the edges of her subconscious, merging with goodbye in forests, lethal chess games and conjured images of an exploding Warehouse.

She walked towards the artificer then and stared down at her. At that moment, the confident Victorian inventor, the ‘father of science fiction’ didn’t look so tall. She told Helena once that she was very good at caring for people. As the anger subsided over being duped, once again, that was all she could see.

“I thought I told you once that you should have talked to me,” Myka said softly.

Helena nodded in response.

“I also thought I told you to get down off your cross because you’re not the bad guy.”

The artificer looked up.

“Are you happy in Wisconsin Helena? Denying yourself everything that makes you _you_?”

The shorter woman didn’t respond, but she didn’t need to. Myka could see the truth of it all in her eyes, and God she hoped that she wasn’t putting her faith in someone who would forever break it, but she had to try, one last time.

She reached down and tugged at her glove, pulling it off and clutching the artifact safely within its protective layer. Leaning down slightly, she took Helena’s hand and placed the pocket watch in her grasp, closing her fingers around it.

“Myka,” Helena gasped.

“Change the rules,” she said gently, “and quickly, before I regain my sanity,” the Agent said, the strength returning to her voice.

The Victorian nodded, racing past Myka towards Claudia. The red-head simply nodded, a look of understanding in her eyes as the two of them set to work. Myka hit the ground running. If they were going to do this again, they needed Louis XIV’s forks. If something went wrong, at least they could fix it from this end. One hundred and fourteen years was a little less than they had dealt with yesterday. Assuming Helena could maintain the timeline and the events that followed, it should work out fine. At least that was what Myka kept telling herself. They were entering dangerous territory, and a timeline in which H. G. was already going to be present in the body of a housekeeper named Sophie. As she reached the forks, she plucked the chest up, ignoring the niggling pain in her abdomen, and raced back towards the time machine. She also chose to ignore the niggling doubts in her mind. Pete was right; sometimes some things just weren’t worth thinking about. Her decision had already been made.

As she crested the bend, she saw Artie, Pete and Steve heading directly towards the alcove where the Time Machine was being held. She bolted towards Helena and Claudia, dropping the chest of forks heavily on the ground.

She clutched her chest, drawing deep breaths. “You have to leave,” she gripped Helena’s arm, “now!”

The artificer looked up at her red-headed companion, “July 13th, 1899 please Claudia,” she requested, with less urgency than she felt. As Claudia pulled the switch, Myka flung open the chest and picked up three forks – she threw one to Claudia and pressed one into Helena’s hand, “Don’t lose this, whatever you do,” she warned as Pete and Artie cried out, the former raising his Tesla, ready to fire.

Myka saw everything slow down around her. She reached into the back of her jeans and tugged her Tesla free before pulling Helena towards the portal with her free hand, shielding her along the way.

“Myka!? What do you think you’re doing!? Have you lost your mind!!!??” Artie yelled.

“The forks are right there,” she said as she edged her and Helena closer to the portal, Tesla still raised and pointed directly at Pete. “I’m sorry Pete, this is just something I have to do,” she said; regret lacing her voice, before pushing Helena back into the portal and following her through.

“We’ve got to go after them!” Pete cried, running towards the portal.

The lights in the alcove dimmed dangerously, and the Warehouse responded to Pete’s request with an exploding power coupling. Just like that, the portal was gone.

Pete reached the wall and slammed his fist against it. Before he knew it, Claudia was beside him, pressing a fork into his hand with a smile on her face. “Do you smell that?” she asked.

“Smell what?” he asked, his hand slipping away from the wall in defeat.

Claudia beamed up at him. “I smell apples.”


	3. A 19th Century Adventure Begins

**Warehouse 12**  
London, England  
July 13, 1899  
8:25am

Myka came to a sudden halt as she backed into Helena, who appeared to have stopped abruptly on the other side of the portal. The American agent held her position, Telsa raised until she was certain that no one was going to follow them through. She had no desire to Tesla Pete, Steve or Artie, but she had come this far. If they stopped her now, she would almost certainly lose her nerve. She stared down at her white-knuckled grip and chastised herself, relaxing slightly. Maybe Artie was right, maybe she had gone insane. Myka Bering didn’t pull a weapon on her own partner; and she certainly didn’t assist 19th century inventors in their hare-brained schemes to travel back in time.

She watched as the edges of the portal wavered, and then in horror as the entire vortex collapsed in on itself. She stared in disbelief. They were effectively stranded, and in the 19th century no less. She lifted her hand to press it up against the now solid wall, only to realize she was still clutching the fork. Well, that was something she supposed. She took a deep breath and willed away the momentary panic. She was here now; they could worry about a way back later. She had great faith in Claudia, and she was also travelling with a veritable genius. They would find a way out of this, they always did.

She felt a hand grip her arm and tug her forcefully away from their entrance. She turned and noted the urgency on Helena’s face. That was when she finally registered the voices, one in particular which was very familiar. 

“Listen to this,” a cheerful, 19th century Helena G. Wells demanded of her unidentified companion. “I spoke with Mr. Verne in the park today, Mummy,” she began, her voice raising an octave or two to impersonate a child’s voice, “It would seem you were correct, he truly is an insufferable old Fro – “

“Helena!” the masculine voice proclaimed, “You really shouldn’t say such things around the girl!”  
19th century Helena laughed. “Oh tosh, Chaturanga! Wait until you hear the next part,” she clapped her hands together, the sound far too close for comfort.

21st century Helena pulled Myka along behind her as they ducked in and out of stacks, finally coming to rest behind some crates which appeared to have been waiting to be unpacked for some time. They watched from their hiding place as a younger version of Helena, and a stately gentleman who must have been Chaturanga, strolled along. Myka was taken aback. Although biologically they were not so many years apart, that Helena looked so much younger, and so much happier. The residual pain which seemed to haunt her Helena’s eyes whenever she thought no one was looking wasn’t present. By god, she was stunning. Her smile lit up her entire face.

“A-ha! Here it is!” the younger Helena proclaimed. She waved the paper at Chaturanga, before holding it aloft and continuing to read aloud as they both walked out of sight. “He became quite incensed when I proclaimed ‘The Time Machine’ was far superior to ‘Le tour du monde en quatre vingts jours.’ He went so far as to accuse me of reading the English translation alone. Well, I put him in his place, and I dear say he became quite enraged! Sophie was very upset with me…“ The story trailed off as the two figures moved out of range, and Myka heard a door close.

Myka and Helena crouched behind the crate in silence. The younger agent looked over at her Victorian companion and spotted a slight tremor in her hands. She moved to place a warm palm over Helena’s fist, and the inventor raised her eyes towards Myka. The curly headed brunette grinned at her.  
“Glad to see you’re humble in every century,” Myka chuckled quietly.  
Helena slapped her lightly on the knee. “I do _not_ sound like that! Do I?” she demanded.  
“Sound like what?" the agent said innocently. "Egotistical, pompous, and British?” she finished, chuckling.   
“Oh do be quiet, you!” Helena whispered, feigning insult before grinning across at Myka. 

The inventor stared off in the direction her younger self had traveled.   
“I never did have the chance to apologize to Jules for Christina’s behaviour," she began. "He may have been an insufferable old Frog at times, but I do recall him coming to me a few months after her passing. He told me he remembered ‘an intelligent child, every bit as spirited and rude as her Mother.’ I think it may have been the first time I laughed after what had happened,” Helena said. It would have sounded almost wistful if it wasn't for the pain in her eyes. 

Myka watched as the inventor gathered herself. She took a deep breath, her face turning determined. She rounded on the American agent then, as if only just registering that she was there.  

“What were you thinking Myka!? I had no intention of bringing you with me. What if we’re now trapped here!?” she whispered urgently, “you don’t belong in this century!”  
Myka looked at her sternly. “Neither do you, Helena. Not any longer. I need you to remember that; you can’t stay here,” she paused and nodded her head in the direction of Chaturanga and younger, happier, Helena, “this is her life to live. For better or worse.” 

Myka paused, and then gripped the other woman's knee.   
“Also, in case you've forgotten, it’s Bering and Wells, Helena. Not just, Wells.”

Helena smiled at Myka, “Wells and Bering?” she asked, her voice full of feigned hopefulness. 

Myka chuckled quietly in response, “Never; and don’t you forget it.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Helena laughed lightly. “Well Agent Bering, we have a number of problems to contend with, shall we begin?”

The younger agent nodded in response. “Lets.”

**

It was an amazing thing to see Helena back in her element. She navigated her way through the Warehouse like it was her second home. Myka simply followed behind, soaking in the details of the old London based facility. She loved Warehouse 13, but 12 had a certain charm about it that she couldn’t ignore. The Brit donned a pair of purple gloves as she moved through the aisles with purpose, plucking up artifacts, all the while assuring Myka that the cataloguing system in the old Warehouse was a far cry from that of 13, and she would return them as soon as their mission was over. When she had collected everything they needed, their next immediate problem turned out to be wardrobe.

Both agents were well aware that jeans would be highly inappropriate in Central London and would garner enough attention to put their entire operation at risk, and probably get them thrown in Bedlam. There was no way they could get to Charles' townhouse unnoticed in broad daylight, so they would have to make do with whatever they could find in the Warehouse.

Helena dragged Myka through stack after stack, her face a picture of concentration. “Now, I know I had a chest around here somewhere,” she muttered to herself. They came to a sudden halt at an almost empty aisle. “A-ha!” she clapped lightly before tugging Myka along.

Helena pushed back the lid of an old, beaten up trunk and began pulling items out as quickly as she could. Having been a Warehouse agent for some time, it would appear that Helena had a habit of leaving items of clothing behind in the Warehouse for future use. Myka watched as she cobbled together an outfit consisting of a pair of slacks, a white cotton shirt, some suspenders and a waistcoat.

Helena was mid-way through pinning up her hair in an elaborate up-do, when she heard Myka curse. She pulled her eyes away from the mirror, a bobby pin still clasped between her teeth. At 5’ 9”, it would appear that the curly headed American was too tall for Helena’s trousers. In fact, Helena noted as she dragged her eyes along her companions toned form, Myka was just bigger than her. Her shoulders were broader, her arms stronger, and her thighs simply more built.

“Oh, bollocks!” Helena cursed around the pin in her mouth. “Wait here, love,” she said as she hurried away, securing the final pin in her hair as she went.  The inventor returned moments later with an assortment of men’s clothing and a wry, “Wooly won’t mind.” Myka simply nodded and began stripping right down to her underwear in the middle of the aisle, urgency overcoming propriety. Everything was a little too loose, but Helena grabbed one of her waistcoats and secured it below Myka’s bust, effectively pulling everything together. “It’s a little tight,” she noted as she scrutinized Myka’s bust straining against the buttons, “but it’ll have to do.” She grabbed them each a coat as Myka bundled their 21st century clothes into a nearby bag which looked suspiciously like Artie’s. She tucked her fork, as Helena had, into her waistcoat pocket. “What now?” she asked as she looked across at Helena who was hurriedly putting everything back in place. “We need to leave as soon as possible. Right now, Chaturanga and I are in the middle of a chess game. I was due to catch the 11am train to Dover this very morning, but there was a curiosity that kept me away.” Myka saw the regret in the older woman’s eyes as she pulled a newly acquired pocket watch from her other waistcoat pocket. “If this is correct, and my memory is still accurate, we should get the ping shortly. We need to be clear of the Warehouse when that happens. It had a rather large effect and caused quite the uproar. The Warehouse will be flooded with Agents and we will never be able to slip out unnoticed.”

Myka reached down and hoisted up the bag, indicating to Helena to lead the way.

**

They slipped out of Warehouse 12 unseen, and Myka recognized Regent’s Park. The agent stared around in awe as couples and families milled about the park, going about their daily business. It was like she had stepped foot into a period drama. She tugged idly at one of the pins in her hair, and Helena gently slapped at her hand. “Don’t touch it, darling,” the inventor scolded, “I know it’s uncomfortable, but it won’t be for long.” She grabbed the offending hand and slipped it into her own, falling into step beside the taller woman and began guiding her across the park. They trotted along at a brisk pace, passing by the boating lake before crossing the outer circle, weaving their way through the Hansom Cabs that clogged the street. Helena tugged her down an alley as they made their way quickly towards 13 Hanover Terrace. Myka felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as they found themselves in front of the home of H. G. Wells. It had been the first time the two had crossed paths, albeit in another time. “Come along darling, the Devil finds work for idle hands,” she said darkly as she threw a look to the home on the left. Apparently the Brit wasn't on the best of terms with her neighbour. As they approached the door, Helena pulled a pair of picks from her coat pocket and made quick work of the lock, pulling them both inside and closing the door sharply behind her.

The inventor took the stairs two at a time, and Myka followed closely behind her. “Charles is away giving a lecture in Cambridge,” she said by way of explanation as she moved to her desk, pulling open the third drawer down. Myka watched as she forced her hand deep inside the drawer, only to emerge moments later with a wad of notes. The inventor tucked them securely away in her inner coat pocket before halting to look longingly at the bookcase. “A few pounds will go unnoticed over the next few months, but I highly doubt, even in my state of grief, that I would fail to notice the absence of my grappler.”

“You wouldn’t be the only one who would miss it,” Myka said pointedly, reminding Helena of the gift she had bestowed in the future, and the events that had led up to it landing in Myka’s possession. The inventors eyes widened as she realised the possible repercussions that simple act could have had. “I think it may have been a blessing that you decided to come along, darling,” Helena said shakily before moving towards the door. Myka shuddered as Bradbury’s short story came to mind. She found herself suddenly looking at her feet, wondering what number of things the two of them had already disturbed.

The two agents descended the stairs once again, this time moving towards the back door.  They slipped out of the back gate and headed in the direction of Wellington Road. Helena was pounding the pavement, her hand gripped around her pocket watch. Myka jogged to catch up, looping her arm through older woman’s and slowing her to a less noticeable pace. The inventor looked across at her apologetically and Myka simply shook her head, nodding in understanding.

As they approached the main road, Helena waved down a Hansom and Myka watched with a grin as she leant up to speak with driver. The inventor was all charm and she heard the driver chuckle as he waved them in. Helena gave a Myka a cheeky bow before she chivalrously offered her a hand up into the Cab. The agent rolled her eyes before accepting the assistance. When they were comfortably seated, Myka turned to the inventor and raised her eyebrow – “You simply couldn’t resist, could you?” Helena chuckled before leaning so close that Myka could feel the heat emanating from her body. The inventor was mere inches away as she spoke, “I told you I missed the horse and buggy days.” Her voice was so low Myka could almost swear she felt the vibration of it in her chest. The younger agent stared into glistening eyes, so full of excitement, mirth – but above all – hope. She committed the look to memory and then reminded herself to breathe.

**

 **Warehouse 13**  
Univille, South Dakota  
April 15, 2014  
1:00pm

“Shit!” Claudia cursed as the Time Machine let off another spark in protest.

“No joy?” Pete asked. The forced joviality in his voice was beyond obvious.

“Not yet. If only we had Paracelsus’ future Warehouse technology this time around!” Claudia cursed, throwing her wrench to the ground in frustration. “The Tesla coil just doesn’t have the chops to maintain the kind of power output we need,” she sighed, rubbing her face, “it’s a miracle the initial portal stayed active as long as it did. I might be able to get it open again for a few seconds, but I don’t know what good that will do. The portal opens in the Warehouse of its time – Christina was murdered in Paris. Unless we head them off at the exact time they passed through, Myka and H.G. will be long gone.”

“What does that mean Claude?” Pete asked, desperation lacing his tone.

Claudia looked across at the older agent and sighed. “I don’t know Pete. They might have to find another way back.”

The older agent lashed out, kicking the Time Machine. “Every time that woman shows up she manages to drag Myka into her world of cuckoo!” he yelled.  

“Hey, come on Pete,” Claudia said gently, touching the older agents shoulder. “This is Myka we’re talking about. She’ll figure it out.”

“What if she doesn’t Claude? What if, this time, she doesn’t make it back?” he said quietly.

The young redhead pulled the bigger man into a hug.

She didn’t have an answer.  

**

 **Charing Cross Station**  
London, England  
July 13, 1899  
10:39am

Helena thrust a couple of coins into the cab driver’s hand before leaping from the Hansom, Myka following suit. The area surrounding the station was so busy, that no one paid them any mind as they ran towards the ticketing counter.

The attendant raised his eyebrows as an out of breath Helena requested two tickets through to Paris. “I’m terribly sorry,” she apologised over the counter. The attendant ignored her as he leafed through his books and issued Helena with six different tickets. “Boarding now at Platform 6,” he said in a bored tone before ushering them on. Helena clutched the tickets before grabbing Myka’s hand and jogging towards the platform. They weaved in and out of the crowds; dodging trolley’s loaded down with piles of luggage.

As they approached the steam engine, Helena slowed them, withdrawing her hand from Myka’s and slipping through the crook of her arm instead. The agent felt herself flexing her hand, missing the warmth. She scolded herself internally – she was getting caught up in the romance of the period. It wasn’t surprising really. She had spent her childhood reading about the streets of Victorian era London, her imagination running wild; and now she was getting to experience it for herself, although at an expeditious pace.

When they finally slumped into their seats, Helena breathed a small sigh of relief. Myka squeezed the other woman’s arm gently before withdrawing, her need for space becoming palpable. “Get some rest Helena; we’ll be at Dover soon.” The inventor nodded and then turned to stare out the window. Myka tucked the bag with their clothing down between her feet before making herself comfortable. She leant her head back and closed her eyes.

“Oh!” Helena said suddenly, breaking Myka from her meditation by throwing something into her lap. The agent opened her eyes and plucked the document up off her leg. “You do speak French, don’t you darling?” the older woman asked mischievously.

Myka looked between the document and Helena, puzzled. The Victorian had a devilish grin on her face as she leant forward and patted Myka’s leg, her smile full of faux condescension. “You’ll need a passport to cross the Channel, dear; and I simply couldn’t bare another Pete-inspired attempt at the Queen’s English.”

Myka rolled her eyes. “Very clever, your Highness,” she snarked.

“I was quite proud of it, if I’m honest,” Helena smirked before resuming her previous position.

Myka tucked the passport safely away before wriggling back down in her seat. They had an 11 hour journey ahead of them, which would give her plenty of time to plan exactly how they would extract Christina from Helena’s cousin’s house without changing the course of events or alerting a future, 20th century Helena in the body of a housekeeper to their presence. Just thinking about all of the possible outcomes made Myka’s head ache; but Pete always said she was the planner, so now was the time to plan.

Yet, the one factor she couldn’t predict just happened to be the one sitting next to her.


	4. A Rescue

**Calais-Méditerrannée Express**  
Somewhere between Calais and Paris, France  
July 13, 1899  
8:10pm 

Helena and Myka sat opposite each other in their compartment, pouring over hand-drawn timelines.

“Helena, I want you to go over it one more time,” Myka ordered. The Victorian lost her temper and slammed her hand down on the table. “Don’t you think we’ve been over this enough? I’ve been over this almost every day for the past 115 years Myka! For Christ’s sake, I even had the pleasure of seeing it with my own eyes!”  
Myka’s eyes flashed in frustration. “That may well be Helena, but I fortunately haven’t! If you want this to go off without a hitch, then you’ll indulge me,” she snapped back.

The woman stared each other down across the table, but this time Myka refused to break. She knew Helena was stressed, but they were about to embark on one of the most delicate assignments she had ever been involved in. Every time she thought they had a workable strategy, something else seemed to arise which could jeopardize the timeline, or Christina’s life.

“Fine,” Helena sighed as she leant back in her seat, “but we need some tea first,” she said curtly, before rising to her feet and excusing herself. Myka sighed as she got to her feet and stretched. They would arrive in Paris in just under two hours. According to Helena, the robbery occurred late morning on the 14th, so time was still on their side. The agent turned to stare out the window at the passing scenery. She had forgotten how much she loved overland trains.

When Helena returned, an attendant followed her into their compartment with some tea. The inventor moved their papers to make some room, and Myka moved to join her at the table. Neither agent spoke as the attendant poured their tea. As he excused himself, the only sound that punctuated the silence was the gentle clink of teaspoons against ceramic as the women mirrored each other, stirring their tea absent-mindedly.

The Victorian was the first to break the silence. “I’m sorry, Myka,” she apologised. The American simply shook her head. “Don’t apologize Helena, we’re both tired. I can’t begin to imagine how worried you are about tomorrow. I don’t mean to push – “

The inventor stopped her there, raising her hand to silence the other agent. “I know you don’t, and you’re right – we need to be prepared for every eventuality. I just don’t want to think about how many ways we could bugger this up.”

Myka reached across the table and gripped Helena’s wrist. “No, now you listen to me. We’re not going to ‘bugger this up.’ Bering and Wells, solving puzzles and saving the day, remember? I just need you to know that this is important to me too.”

The older agent shook her head, her face a picture of wonderment. “What on this Earth did I do to deserve someone such as you in my life?”

Myka felt a warmth building at the back of her neck. Pushing it down, she responded with a wry, “Flattery will get you nowhere Wells,” before letting a chuckle escape from her lips. “Now, drink your tea,” she ordered.

The older agent mock saluted, grinning lightly and she lifted her teacup to her lips. She couldn’t resist a sly wink in the other agent’s direction. Myka rolled her eyes before picking up her own cup.

**

 **Paris Nord Station**  
Paris, France  
July 13, 1899  
11:30pm

As the two agents departed the train, Helena led them from the station and hailed a cab. As they couldn’t risk a night in one of the Victorian’s favoured establishments for fear of recognition, Helena located a hotel which often hosted less than favourable clientele. It wasn’t the cleanest, but she could guarantee they wouldn’t be disturbed, and their faces would be forgotten quickly enough if they blended in well enough.

As they departed the cab, Myka watched as the inventor’s demeanour changed. Her posture became sloppy and she proceeded to muss her hair and Myka’s. Before long, both women looked like they had just stumbled out of one of Paris’s less than favourable establishments. She winked at Myka as she began speaking commoners French and leant against the taller agent for support. The American followed suit, trying her best to mask her accent.

No one seemed to pay the two women too much mind aside from one particularly shabby looking streetwalker who offered them something that Myka’s French education had failed to provide the vocabulary for. It didn’t take her all that much to guess the general gist.

The Brit paid for their room with the francs she had exchanged at the station. Myka stood slightly behind her at the front desk, quelling her disgust as the toothless manager leered down the shorter woman’s unbuttoned shirt. She almost jumped through the roof as the inventor grabbed her ass salaciously on the way up the stairs, leaning back to give the proprietor a wink before following Myka to the second floor.

As they closed the door behind them, Myka glared at the inventor. “You’re enjoying this!” she said accusingly. Helena laughed, “We have to play the part, darling!” she said as she flopped down on the bed ungracefully. The taller woman sat down next to the inventor’s feet, reaching down to pull off her boots. She looked across at the Brit and gently touched her ankle, “I’m going to have a shower,” she proclaimed as she slapped her hands on her knees and got to her feet, moving in the direction of the only other door before stopping herself and sighing. Helena chuckled knowingly as Myka took a moment to absorb their surroundings. “I don’t suppose there will be any water coming for that basin,” she indicated towards the chipped ceramic bowl, located under a broken mirror, and resting on a dilapidated vanity which had only one broken handle remaining. Apparently a broken handle wasn’t worth stealing. She looked back at the inventor, who was lounging back with a smirk. Myka cringed as she leant to look at the other side of the bed. She stared at the single chamber pot in horror. She was thankful they hadn’t had time to eat all that much since breakfast at the B&B that morning. 

The Brits light chuckles turned into full belly laughs as she took in the agent’s expression. “I can cover my ears and sing if you would like?” she snorted as she struggled for breath.

“I think I’ll wait,” Myka said as she took a step back from the pot.

“Oh darling, I’m just kidding,” the inventor said, still chuckling as she got to her feet. “I’ll go rustle us up something to eat and leave you to your ablutions,” she said, patting the younger agent on the shoulder on her way to the door. “I’ll be back shortly.”

**

When the Brit returned, Myka was sitting up in bed, pouring over their notes. The offending chamber pot was stowed safely in the far corner of the room. Helena gently dropped a paper bag in the centre of the bed, before she began removing her clothing. She watched closely as the American lifted the papers in her hand slightly higher to block her line of sight.

Helena couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto her face as she took in the sight of the younger woman. Myka Bering was absolutely endearing. Regret crept slowly into her chest as she thought about lost opportunities and bad decisions; made all the more palpable now that she had proof of exactly what the agent was willing to sacrifice on her behalf. As she moved towards the bed and pulled back the covers, she made a promise to herself to make things right. She only hoped it wasn’t too late.

She slipped in next to Myka, maintaining a safe distance as she leant forward and pulled open the paper bag resting next to her thigh. Breaking off a piece of bread she offered it to Myka who took it with a look of thanks, taking a bite. The Brit rummaged deeper in the bag and produced small chunk of cheese, breaking it in half and passing the larger half over. Myka placed the notes between them as she accepted the offering, and Helena leant forward as Myka explained her finalised plan between bites. Helena’s eyed widened in wonder – the curly headed brunette had thought of everything. “Myka, you’re a genius,” she exclaimed. The agent simply shook her head, swallowing before she answered, “I have no idea what to do after we get her out, Helena.”

The Brit dusted her hands as she finished eating, crumpling the paper bag and tossing it next to the bed. “One thing at a time, darling. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” The other agent nodded before gathering the papers and placing them down on the bag she had rested next to the bed. She slid down in the bed before rolling to face the Victorian. “We should get a couple of hours in before tomorrow.”

Helena nodded in assent, leaning across to the gas lamp situated next to her, extinguishing the flame. As she nestled down, she stared up at the roof, her eyes wide open and the sound of her anxiously pounding heart finally registering throughout her body. Sleep was a luxury she wouldn’t allow herself until Christina was safely in her arms tomorrow. Alive.  
Her breath hitched as a feeling of excitement and pure terror began to overwhelm her senses in the darkness.

“It’s going to work, Helena,” Myka said softly. Helena gripped her hand across her own chest and nodded silently. She clung onto those words for dear life as she heard the other agents breathing slowly even out.

“Thank you, Myka” she whispered softly as she settled in for the wait. Morning couldn’t come soon enough.

**

 **Warehouse 13**  
Univille, South Dakota  
April 15, 2014  
1:30pm  
  
Pete’s perpetual pacing was interrupted suddenly by a loud thump as a pile of journals hit the floor in his path. Artie and Steve had returned with an armload of turn of the century documents.

Claudia turned off her welder and lifted her goggles. “What’s this?” she asked.

“Every journal, diary and personal document from Warehouse 12 agents employed over the course of 1899,” he explained, “Along with a copy of every major British and French newspaper from the 14th and 15th of July, 1899,” he said as he plucked up a copy of La Croix and threw it to Pete. “The story about the robbery is on page six – keep an eye on it and see if anything changes,” he said, before picking up a book and throwing it his way. Pete caught it before staring at Artie, puzzled. “Paradise Lost?” he said questioningly.  
“Milton spoke 11 languages, _including_ fluent French,” the older agent said by way of explanation before returning his attention to the pile of documents before him. With Steve’s assistance, they lay out all the journals and diaries, opening them to the entries for July 14  & 15, 1899.

Pete stared at Artie, incredulous. “Now what?” he asked.

“Now,” Artie said as he clutched touched his hand to the fork in his pocket, “We wait.”

**

 **Paris, France**  
July 14, 1899  
4:37am

Myka and Helena exited the hotel (if you could seriously call it that, Myka thought to herself) through a back entrance and emerged in a dirty alley. They made their way quickly across town in the pre-dawn twighlight, eventually situating themselves behind some crates in an alleyway across from Helena’s cousin’s residence. The neighbourhood was quiet as the two women settled in for the wait.

According to reports, the men had simply walked straight in through the front door which had been left unlocked. As far as Helena could recollect, she had entered Sophie’s consciousness at what she believed to 11:02am, at which time, the robbery was already in progress. The gap in their knowledge rested with how long the men had been lingering in the neighbourhood beforehand, so the two women had decided to beat them to the punch. The one thing that had been obvious was that they had been scoping the neighbourhood for some time, aware of the comings and goings of its residents. Helena pointed out to Myka that, had the men been watching the house beforehand, they would have noted that Sophie and Christina never left. However, Myka noted that just because they were inattentive, didn’t necessarily mean they weren’t hanging about beforehand. Both women eventually agreed on an early start.

They watched in silence as the neighbourhood slowly awoke. Bakeries threw open their doors and residents emerged from their homes. It was a beautiful day, and it was hard to imagine that in just a few short hours the picturesque neighbourhood would become a crime scene.

As the hours ticked by, Helena grew progressively more restless. When she pulled her pocket watch from her breast pocket for the umpteenth time, Myka reached across and placed a calming hand on her knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. The Brit stilled momentarily, until the front door opened directly across from them and an attractive woman emerged with a young girl and boy flanking her on either side. “My cousin, Constance,” the Brit whispered by way of explanation. Myka nodded silently as they watched the trio pause in the doorway. The tall blonde woman across from them called out a friendly farewell into the house and then pulled the door to, a smile on her face as she took in the weather.

As they moved down the narrow street, the trio were passed by a short man, who tipped his hat in greeting. Myka could feel the muscles under her palm tighten, ready to spring. It would appear that one of their assailants had arrived on the scene. The man paused to light a cigarette, keeping his hat dipped low as he watched Constance and her children exit onto another street. It wasn’t long before he was joined by what could only be described as a mountain. His companion was over six foot, and heavy set. Myka suddenly understood why Helena had struggled in the body of Sophie. She hadn’t laid eyes on the woman yet, but Myka doubted even she herself would stand much of chance against that beast, not without a weapon.

Myka recalled Helena’s tale with a shiver. The inventor had tried desperately to fight off the two assailants; however, she had been overpowered. She had been attacked on the second story landing. Helena assumed that the housekeeper had emerged from the guestroom in which Christina was sleeping when she heard a disturbance in the house. According to the crime scene reports, Sophie had been found near the bottom of the staircase and Christina just outside of her bedroom door, only a few feet away from the top of the stairs. The last thing Helena recalled from her visit was screaming at her daughter to run as she had emerged from her room. Soon after, Sophie had been knocked unconscious, and the Victorian’s consciousness had been flung back into the early 20th century.

Myka had felt physically ill as she watched the pain in the Victorian’s eyes as she recounted the tale, in detail, for the first time. However, the strategist in her couldn’t help view the sequence of events as a blessing. Christina had still been alive when Sophie went down. That gave them the perfect window in which to prevent her death without alerting a past Helena to their presence. That part was easy, Myka thought to herself. The real challenge came in convincing the world, and Helena, that Christina Wells died in that robbery. Myka pressed a hand to her side, taking comfort from the weight of the Tesla in her coat pocket. Her hands were steady as she took a deep breath and looked over at Helena. The Brit nodded at her before eyeing her pocket watch once again.

The next few minutes passed by agonizingly slowly as both women waited for the right time to move. They watched as the two men lingered over their cigarettes before moving with purpose towards the property, heads low. Helena blanched as they simply strolled straight in through the front door. It was so ridiculously bold, and no one had seen a thing. The two agents held their position, although Myka was aware how difficult it was for Helena. They had agreed to slip into the property as soon as they saw the window on the second storey break. It had been that which had alerted the bakery owner who, after approaching the property and realising something was wrong, had run for the police. According to Helena, she had thrown a priceless vase at the shorter of the two men and had missed.

The sound of shattering glass was their signal, and both women leapt to their feet, moving with purpose. They entered the property quickly and quietly, much as the burglars had done, locking the door behind them. As they moved into the entranceway they heard a terrified, high pitched “Sophie!” drift down from the second storey, followed quickly by a scream of “Christina! Run!” before all hell broke loose. As they approached the staircase they were just in time to watch the young housekeeper receive a knock-out back hand from the shorter man before losing her footing and plunging down the stairs.  Her unconscious form landed with a sickening crack, two stairs from the bottom, one of her legs at an unnatural angle and her head pinned up against the railing.  A guttural cry fuelled by pure rage escaped the woman next to her, and Helena pulled free of Myka’s grip, done waiting. As she bowled up the stairs towards the shorter man, Myka followed closely behind her, drawing her Tesla as she ascended the stairs.

Christina’s screams pierced throughout the house. The girl was just out their line of sight. Sophie’s assailant stood at the top of the stairs, frozen in shock as the two women, who suddenly appeared out of nowhere, bore down on him. Myka didn’t waste any time – taking him down with her tesla as Christina’s screams intensified. Helena didn’t break pace, flying straight past the man before he had even hit the deck. Myka glanced down at him, satisfied he was still breathing. He would live to fight another day, or at least until a grieving mother caught up with him.

As she followed Helena’s trail, she saw the shorter woman struggling with the mountain, who currently had both hands wrapped firmly around Christina’s slender neck, silencing her screams. The inventor was attacking with fury as the young girl’s lips began turning an alarming shade of blue. Christina clawed desperately at the man’s hands as Helena cried out in terror. The six foot tall, unwashed monstrosity swiped out and clocked the Brit on the side of the face, knocking her to the side momentarily. Myka launched forward in anger and stabbed her Tesla into the man’s back, pulling the trigger. She watched in satisfaction as he arched back slightly and then proceeded to tumble forward.

“Helena!” Myka cried, but the inventor was a step ahead of her, pulling her daughter out of the man’s grip, and clear before the mountain hit the deck with a resounding thud. The two women and the young girl were silent for a moment, the silence punctured only by Christina’s laboured gasps as she struggled to regain her breath.

“Mummy?” she rasped, and Helena cried out in relief, exhaustion, grief, and a multitude of emotions that Myka couldn’t even begin to comprehend. She watched as the inventor pulled the girl into her in a bone crushing hug and sank to her knees, sobbing. She rocked back and forth, tears flowing freely as the young girl gripped on to her for dear life. The curly-headed brunette felt like someone had thrust their hand in her chest and grabbed hold of her heart. She took a shaky breath and wiped away the stray tears which had made their way onto her cheek as she watched on from a slight distance.

“Helena,” she said gently, “I’m sorry, but we don’t have time.” To her surprise, Helena sniffed deeply through her nose and nodded. She rocked back into a crouching position and quickly assessed the girl’s injuries. “How do you feel?” she asked the 8 year old directly. The young girl wiped at her eyes and straightened up, a picture of the stiff upper lip that had been bred into her from the day she was born. “My throat hurts,” she said, matter-of-factly.  
Helena simply nodded, “Can you take a deep breath for me, please?”  
Christina complied, and Helena listened closely, before nodding and taking both of the girl’s hands in her own. She pressed herself up to her feet before squeezing Christina’s hands in her own and smiling. She moved her hands to the child’s shoulders and then turned her gently to face Myka.

“Darling, this is Myka Bering. Please say hello,” the inventor ordered gently. The young girl approached Myka boldly, her hand out. “Hello Myka Bering, my name is Christina Wells,” the young girl said confidently, despite the rasp in her voice. Myka pocketed her Tesla before receiving the hand offered to her. “It’s nice to meet you Christina Wells,” she said, her voice wavering only slightly at she stared down at a miniature Helena. The child even had the inventor’s mannerisms down to a tee. The only thing that really set them apart was the young girl’s full head of loose curls. “You’re American, aren’t you?” the girl said knowingly.  
“Yes, I am,” Myka said simply. She watched the young girl smile mischievously before replying, “Mummy always says that Americans are positiv – “ she started before Helena jumped forward slightly, clasping the girls shoulder and quickly cutting her off with a quick, “Now, that’ll be enough of that young lady,” she chuckled before moving around to stand next to Myka, her face turning serious. “I need you to listen to me very carefully. Some very bad men are after Mummy, so I need you to go with Miss Bering and do everything that she asks you, no questions. Do you understand?” she asked.

Christina looked at her with apprehension but nodded. Helena reached forward and grabbed the girl, pressing her lips to her forehead and holding them there. “I love you,” she said vehemently, before ordering the girl to her room to put on a change of clothes and to not to come out until Myka collected her, regardless of what she heard.

The author rounded on her companion then, her face serious, “Myka I – “ she began.  
“I’ve got this Helena, I promise. I really wish you would let me be the one to – “ the agent began, before the Brit placed her fingers to her lips, effectively silencing her.  
“You’ve done enough Myka. More than I can ever thank you for in any century,” she said as she pulled Harriet Tubman’s thimble from her pocket and closed her eyes in concentration. Myka watched as the woman shrunk down to mirror the child who had just left their presence, bruises blossoming across her neck, mimicking the injuries Christina would have sustained had they never arrived. Myka nodded in approval before helping Helena position herself under the dozing mountain before them. She moved one of his arms to position it over the Brits throat.

Myka reached into her coat pocket and pulled on a pair of purple gloves before carefully extracting a linen cloth from her pocket. “Are you ready?” she asked Helena quietly, the horror of what she was about to do evident in her voice. The inventor gritted her teeth and nodded. Myka grabbed the inventor’s small hand and paused.  
Helena stared up at her with Christina’s eyes. “I’ll be okay darling, I promise. I’ll see you soon.”

Myka steeled herself and then proceeded to press the Torquemada’s Linen Cloth into the small hand in her grip. The artifact, hailing from the Inquisition, was used in over one hundred ‘Water Cure’ tortures, in which cloth was washed into the opening of the victim’s throat, creating the overwhelming sense of drowning as jugs of water were periodically forced into the poor souls who were unfortunate enough to be selected for the practice. The artifact itself mimicked all the symptoms of asphyxiation and drowning, keeping the victim on the very brink of death without killing them. Originally, it had taken some skill for Torquemada to avoid killing his victims, but the technique was perfected with much practice.

The agent watched in horror as the vision of Christina before her gasped and choked, her face flushing, and then paling as she struggled for oxygen. Tears ran from the Brits eyes as she tried desperately to pull oxygen into her lungs. Myka wanted nothing more than to look away from the sight before her, but she held steady, gripping the older woman’s hand until the life drained away from her face and she slipped into unconsciousness. The younger agent then carefully extracted the cloth, wrapping it in her gloves and securing it in her coat pocket, fighting the urge to bag the artifact immediately. She stared down at her partner in crime and lifted a shaky hand to check her pulse. If there was one, she couldn’t feel it.

She backed away from the Victorian artificer, ignoring the protective instinct flaring in her chest, and focusing her thoughts on the real Christina. She walked into the room to find the girl sitting, fully dressed at the end of her bed. Her hair was a disaster, apparently used to either Helena or a servant doing it for her. Myka walked straight towards her and held out her arms. The girl acquiesced quickly, and moved towards the woman who, until mere moments ago, she had never met. Myka was overwhelmed by the trusting eyes staring up at her as the child slipped her hands into the agents. Myka pulled her forward and lifted her into her arms, grunting slightly at the weight. She pressed the girls head into her shoulder and told her to close her eyes. Christina simply nodded into her neck as Myka made her way quickly out of the room. She wove through the bodies littering the floor, sparing a short glance towards Helena before steeling herself and descending the stairs. She jogged towards the rear door and slipped outside into the adjoining alley.

If everything went according to plan, the two men inside would wake soon to find what appeared to be a dead child, and then run before the authorities arrived to investigate. Myka had set her Tesla to the lowest setting, so they shouldn’t be down for longer than a few minutes – although the larger one might take a bit more waking due to her rash decision to take a close range shot. There wasn’t much she could do about that now.

She put Christina down and grabbed her hand, ordering her gently to walk as quickly as possible as she pulled the hood of the girls cloak up and over her head. The walked brusquely and quietly for the next hour, slowing only when Myka was satisfied that they were far enough away from the scene to avoid crossing paths with anyone who might recognise the girl on sight. As they approached a park, she felt a gentle tug on her hand. Looking down, Myka blanched a little as she registered the pained look on the girls face.

“Can we stop for a while Miss Bering?” she asked gently. Myka chastised herself, not only had the girl been home, ill – she had also been through quite the ordeal. The agent stopped and smiled down at her small companion. “Of course we can, would you like to sit in the park for a while?”

The girl nodded and Myka led her into the small Parisian enclosure, guiding her to a large tree near the rear of the park. She smiled at the other parents as she passed, acting for all the world like they were simply mother and daughter, out for an afternoon stroll. As they came to a halt in front of the large chestnut, Myka moved to sit down, pulling the girl down gently with her. Christina sat close to her, her small hand still gripping the older woman’s. As they leant back, Myka slipped an arm around the child and began stroking her arm absentmindedly. The young brunette edged closer, eventually allowing her head to rest against Myka’s side  – apparently satisfied that she was friend, not foe. The American agent moved her hand up to the girls head and began running her fingers through her curls.

“Miss Bering?” Christina said hesitantly after a few minutes.  
“Yes Miss Wells?” Myka chuckled, feeling the momentary tension in the girl’s body fade away. The girl pulled back and stared up at her with searching eyes.  
“Is Mummy going to be alright?” she asked quietly. Myka touched both of her hands to the child’s cheeks and leant towards her. “Your mother is going to be just fine. Don’t you worry,” she said with more confidence than she felt.

According to Helena, Christina’s body had been moved to the local police precinct and held until Helena could travel from London to identify the body. After that, Chaturanga had organised a small funeral at Helena’s request, in Paris, and the body had been interned. It wouldn’t be disturbed again until Helena went in search of the Trident in the 21st century. Frankly, Myka was thankful that forensic science was severely underdeveloped in the 19th century. According to Helena it had been an open and closed case in terms of the cause of death. Death by asphyxiation and severe trauma to the airway had been obvious. There had been no need for an autopsy.

The key now was to extract Helena from the funeral directors, before the service. The closed casket ceremony was going to be four days from now. In a few hours, 19th century Helena would receive the telegram that would alter the course of her entire life and strip her of that light in her eyes that Myka had seen yesterday.

Christina seemed satisfied with Myka’s answer and simply nodded before scooting back over towards the agent and lying down, resting her head in the older woman’s lap. The weight of the situation suddenly came crashing down around Myka. She looked down in wonder at the small child who was nestled against her. Somehow, the two brunette Warehouse agents had pulled off the impossible. She knew it was wrong to put the life of single human being before all others. She knew that had they had the opportunity; Pete, Artie, Claudia and Steve would have all liked the opportunity to go back and stop the awful things that had befallen the ones they loved. Christ, Myka thought to herself, even she would have liked to go back and ensure she was just seconds earlier. She could have prevented Sam’s needless death. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to feel guilty in the slightest as she took in the sight below her.

Myka leant down and placed a kiss on the child’s forehead, grinning. If Christina was perturbed by the sudden display of affection from the woman she had met barely an hour previously, she didn’t show it. “I quite like you Miss Bering,” she whispered into the agent’s ear before she could pull away. Myka laughed as she sat back up. It was a laugh full of joy, and affection. She tapped the girl lightly on the nose and grinned, “I quite like you too Miss Wells.”


	5. An American in Paris

**Somewhere in the City**  
Paris, France  
July 15, 1899  
6:30pm

The next 36 hours had passed without incident, thankfully. Myka and Helena had discussed their exit strategy at length when they had arisen on the morning of the 14th. As Myka suspected, Helena hadn’t slept at all, instead choosing to mull over what they would do once they had Christina. Failure was not an option she had been willing to entertain.

The two agents had eventually agreed that they were going to need assistance to get back into the Warehouse in London. They had artifacts to return, and should they need to communicate with the agents of Warehouse 13, they were going to need access to things they knew made it through two world wars and safely to America.

They had eventually come to the decision that the only person truly in a position to assist them was Chaturanga, the inventor’s old mentor. It pained Helena to have to put him in such a position, but Myka was more concerned about what his influence would have on the future decisions of his mentee once he knew about Christina. How could anyone bring themselves to deceive a grieving mother? “In the name of saving a child,” Helena had begun, “there are no limits to what people will do,” she had finished, looking pointedly at Myka in the process. Helena had the utmost confidence that if anyone could pull off the charade until her early 20th century bronzing, it would be Chaturanga; much as it may pain him to do so.

With that in mind, they had pondered how they were going to get in touch with him without alerting a grieving Helena. The inventor’s insistence that she should be the one to play a dead Christina was only strengthened at this point. Myka could move without recognition. She could approach the man in the open. Myka had admitted defeat at that point, albeit unwillingly.

So that was how she and Christina came to be housed at the Hôtel des Marronniers off rue Jacob, on the south side of the Seine. The small site was favoured by Chaturanga and it was where he would stay when he arrived, while Helena lodged elsewhere with her family. The Brit told Myka that her memories of that time were not so accurate, but she was pretty certain she had never visited him at the hotel.

Myka looked up from her book as she glanced over at the sleeping form splayed out on the ornate king sized bed. Christina had slept most of the previous afternoon, and had spent most of today drifting in and out. Her fever had broken however, and she was on the mend, thankfully. Myka was pretty sure it had nothing to do with her nursing abilities.

The agent had never tended to a sick child for an extended period. Actually, if she was honest, she hadn’t spent this much one-on-one time with a child…ever. Myka was secretly thankful that Christina was feeling under the weather. She had the feeling that had the girl been at full strength, she would have struggled to keep her entertained in a hotel room for a day and a half.

As it turned out, Christina was every bit the daughter of H. G. Wells – intelligent and inquisitive; but also capable of playing Myka like a fiddle. She had batted her eyelashes and wrangled three servings of ice cream, proclaiming it helped with her sore throat. When that was done and she started to feel ill, she curled up and looked so pathetic that the agent couldn’t help but say yes to every request, which included doing “the voices, like Mummy” when she read the girl a story or five.

The curly headed brunette stood up from her seat in the window of the room, yawning and stretching her arms above her head before leaning over to put her book down. The sun was beginning to go down, and there had still been no sign of Chaturanga. She suspected that he would arrive at some point over the next few hours, and she had requested a room overlooking the entranceway so she could spot him on arrival.

Christina stirred and rubbed her eyes, sitting up. Myka moved to the bed and rest her hand gently on the girl’s forehead. She seemed much cooler. In fact, she felt normal, which was about the best diagnosis the agent could do without a paediatrician – or at the very least, a thermometer.  
“How you feeling, Trouble?” she asked the girl as she peered down at her.  
Christina smiled back up at her. “Much better thank you, Miss Bering,” she said. Helena had been right; the girl was a happy child.  
“How do you feel about dinner?” the agent asked. The girl nodded and Myka slipped from the room, locking the door behind her to order some room service.

They sat around a small table situated near the window and ate a simple dinner of roast chicken and vegetables. Christina, suddenly abound with energy began grilling Myka about how she had met her mother. According to Helena, the girl had no knowledge of the Warehouse, or the work that Helena did in its employ. Myka was no storyteller, but she did her best to weave a short, but reasonably entertaining story about stumbling across the Brit in London when she was looking for an invention for her employer. She mentioned that they had had a slight disagreement, and Myka couldn’t stop the slight cringe that crept to her face as she recalled that day so very long ago. She swore one of her kneecaps hadn’t been the same since falling from that ceiling. The girl seemed satisfied enough with the tale, so Myka gently guided the conversation towards safer territory.

After about half an hour, Myka suddenly realised she was having a conversation about Victorian literature with an eight year old. The girl had started speaking about her little run in with Jules Verne before asking Myka what she thought of the author’s work. Before long, the conversation had moved to the work of H. G. Wells and Myka laughed when Christina puffed out her chest to proclaim that Charles was her uncle. It was all a little jarring. The absurdity of the situation was interrupted by a light knock at the door as someone arrived to clear their plates and leave some tea and a couple of pastries.

“You and Mummy are very good friends, are you not?” the girl asked between mouthfuls of pain au chocolat.  
Myka nodded in assent as she sipped her tea.  
“Then why has she never mentioned you before?” the girl inquired. By gods she was quick, Myka thought, having walked straight into that one.  
“We don’t see each other that often, I suppose,” Myka responded. “America is quite far, kiddo.”  
“Not as far as New Zealand though!” the girl said, before running off on a tangent about some distant cousin who found god and decided to ‘educate the natives.’ Myka wasn’t too sure about how the Maori people would feel about being called ‘natives,’ but that would be some education for a later date.

As the evening wore on, Myka helped the girl brush out her hair and settled her back into bed before taking up residence by the window once more. She tried reading her book but she was restless. Now that Christina was sleeping peacefully, her attention was back on her mother. After reading the same paragraph six times, she sighed and put it down. This was all so damn risky, and her heart thumped in her chest as she thought of the number of things that could go wrong. The people handling Helena assumed she was dead. Who knew how they went about treating dead bodies in 19th century Paris.

She was thankfully pulled from her musings by the some movement below her. She looked out the window and felt her heart race as she took in the sight of a noticeably slumped Chaturanga climbing from a cab. It appeared the weight of the day was bearing down heavily on the Director of Warehouse 12. She watched as a bell boy helped the man with his things before leading him inside. Myka got to her feet, pulling on her coat – she could help release the man of at least some of his burden. She glanced at the girl in the bed, and satisfied she was sleeping, she slipped out of the room and locked the door behind her once more, pocketing the key. She moved swiftly down the stairs and decided to forgo subtlety, strolling straight into the foyer and directly towards him. “Mr Chaturanga, is that you?” she said, clapping her hands and gripping them together in faux amazement. The older man turned to her tiredly and she watched as his face transitioned from surprise, to puzzlement. She watched the cogs turning in his brain, desperately trying to place her, but coming up blank.

“I’m sorry Miss…?”  
“Bering,“ Myka provided for him. “Myka Bering.”  
“I do apologise Miss Bering. I’ve had a particularly long day and can’t seem to place you.”  
“Oh that’s alright, I have one of those typical faces,” she said, waving it off.  
The man raised his eyebrow, taking in the tall, lean, attractive girl with wild curls, standing there in men's clothes with nary a wedding band in sight. She was not someone who blended that easily into a crowd. Suspicion started creeping into his veins; there was something…wrong about this woman. He didn’t know what it was, but she seemed out of place. Aside from her obvious attire, her posture was terrible, and she was so forward. He could put it down to her being American, but even that didn’t seem to explain it. He rubbed a hand over his forehead. He was tired, seeing shadows where there were none in light of recent events.

They were interrupted by an attendant who arrived to show Chaturanga to his room.  
“Well Miss Bering, it has been lovely to meet you…again. I am terribly sorry but events of this day have left me a little short on conversation.”  
“I understand,” she nodded and reached forward to shake the man’s hand, slipping a piece of paper into his palm. She watched the older man with keen eyes, and he stared back at her, as if suddenly registering the intelligence in her eyes. He clasped his other palm over their joined hands, squeezing lightly.  
“It truly was a pleasure Miss Bering,” he said pointedly, before releasing her hand and excusing himself. Myka nodded to the desk clerk before returning to her room and waiting.

The light knock came about thirty minutes later. She opened the door to see a very alert figure before her. “You said this was about Christina Wells,” he said quietly. Myka simply opened the door wider and stepped back so he could see the bed.  
The older man gasped, “Is that…” he said shakily, taking a step forward. Myka simply nodded and allowed the older gentlemen a moment before touching a hand gently to his arm. “I have quite the story for you Mr. Chaturanga, but I’d rather not disturb her. Do you have somewhere we can talk?”

He nodded. “My room,” he said, taking one last look at Christina as if to be sure it was same girl, “this way,” he said before leading her out.

**

As he closed the door behind them, he walked directly to the sideboard and poured out a scotch with a shaky hand. He indicated towards the table and Myka sat down.

“How…” he began before shaking his head. “I mean, it’s impossible,” he said as he paced the length of the room. He shook his head again, “Well, nothing’s impossible of course, but…” he trailed off again. Turning to Myka, the man downed the remainder of his scotch and proceeded to sit down opposite her.

“Now young lady; how about we start at the beginning?” he said, nodding to himself, “Yes, I think that’s probably best don’t you? So how about we start with a name. Who are you?” he asked, his eyes intent and focused on her face.

She looked at him, and smiled. “As I said earlier Mr. Chaturanga, my name is Myka Bering. What I didn’t tell you however is that we haven’t actually ever met. I’m an agent of Warehouse 13.”

She watched as the man’s eyes widened slightly, and then, rather than choosing to question her, simply indicated for her to continue. She proceeded to do so at great length for the next hour, being careful to skirt around any concrete details about the future. Chaturanga was the perfect audience, although he was quite distraught over the fact that the Empire had seemingly lost the Warehouse to America.

When she finally finished, he rubbed his chin in thought. “Alright, now please stop me if I am incorrect. Christina was killed, as it occurred early yesterday; Helena then proceeded to search for ways in which to bring her back, one of which included building that Time Machine of hers which Charles used for his book; somehow this eventually led to her bronzing; she was then awoken in the 21st century, and now you and her have returned, using the Time Machine, to rescue Christina; and Helena is currently lying in the morgue I just now left, under the influence of a particularly nasty artifact which I myself collected. Is that about correct Miss Bering?”

Myka nodded as Chaturanga continued to stare pointedly at her. “Miss Bering, you are aware that what you and Miss Wells have done is completely reckless, irresponsible and against everything the Warehouse stands for, are you not?”

Myka nodded again, and Chaturanga noted the pained look in her face. This woman was not used to breaking rules. That relieved him somewhat, as it sounded as though his top agent had become increasingly reckless following the loss of her daughter. He felt his stomach clench as his mind wandered to the devastated woman who was currently across town. It pained him to think what she will have to live through before happiness finds her once again; and she would find happiness, he would make sure of it.

“Alright Miss Bering, it would appear you’ve caught me in a moment of weakness. I will assist, but I need you to go through your plans in detail so I can be assured that we’re not causing irrefutable damage to your timeline.”  
  
“I only hope we haven’t done so already,” she said quietly, gripping hold of the fork in her breast pocket.

Chaturanga reached across and clasped her hand in his own. “The assailants got away scot free, as they were supposed to; and up until an hour ago, I was convinced that Christina Wells was dead, and so is her mother, her cousins and the police. I think you’ve both done exceptionally well thus far, don’t you think?”

Myka nodded at the older gentleman, taking comfort in his kind eyes.

“Also, Miss Bering,” he began. “Who’s to say that everything is currently not as it was always meant to be, hmmm? You strike me as an exceptionally talented woman, and Helena was always out of her time. ‘It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.’”

“Change the rules,” Myka whispered.

Chaturanga patted her hand. “Exactly, my dear girl. Change the rules. Now, I do have one request of you,” he said as he pulled his hand away.

“Of course, anything,” Myka said.

“I wouldn’t mind spending some time with young Miss Wells before the funeral. It’s incredibly selfish of me, but apparently I never did get the chance to say goodbye.”

**

Over the next couple of days, Christina and Myka fell into something of a routine as they waited for the day of the funeral. When Chaturanga came back to her with the details he had organised with Helena, the agent breathed a sigh of relief. Everything was as it should be.

Christina had taken up permanent residence next to Myka, choosing to join the agent by the window as they passed the time reading and discussing varying things. Chaturanga returned to the hotel the following evening with a change of clothes for them both and some more reading material to keep them going, and had then promptly told Myka it would probably do her the world of good to get out and take a walk. The funeral wouldn’t take place until the day after next.

Myka felt the distinct feeling of apprehension about leaving the girl, but the older man had assured her she would be just fine. The agent wove her way through the streets of Paris, eventually finding herself standing at the foot of the Sacré-Cœur, looking out over the city. It was there that she finally let the weight of the situation truly settle about her shoulders, and all she could think about was getting Helena out as soon as possible. God only knew what kind of effects the artifact was having on Helena after such a long period of suspension. The wait was killing her, and Christina had begun to ask her more frequently about when her mother would return. Myka’s mind wandered all over the place, and before she knew it, she had been standing out there for over an hour.

When she returned, Chaturanga and Christina were engaged in a chess lesson, and the young girl’s eyes were alight with the challenge. Myka excused herself to take a bath and upon returning, found the older gentleman settling the child into bed. She thanked him as he retired for the night, and before he left, he clapped her on the shoulders and told her everything would be alright.

With that, she had pulled back the covers and crawled in next to Christina. The young child scooted closer, and placed her arm over Myka’s belly. The agent wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, and suddenly everything she had been worrying about slipped away. They had made the wrong decision, yes; but she couldn't help the feeling that it was the  _right_ one. 

**

 ** **Hôtel**  des Marronniers**  
Paris, France  
July 18, 1899  
7:25am

Myka handed Chaturanga Torquemada’s Linen Cloth, wrapped securely in a pair of purple gloves, before passing him a static bag and giving him instructions on how to use it. The Director of Warehouse 12 took in the items and looked closely at the bag. “Marvelous!” he exclaimed, “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself.”

The curly headed brunette raised an eyebrow, “You didn’t, so there will be no thinking of it,” she scolded with a grin on her face. He chuckled before pocketing the item. “The service starts at ten. I best be on my way Miss Bering, so I can make the switch in time,” he said as he hefted a large bag onto his shoulder, weighing approximately as much as an 8 year old British girl.

Myka watched from the window as the older man climbed into a cab. She was apprehensive, having allowed Chaturanga to take the responsibility for the switch at the funeral home. However, he had assured her that he had been a perfectly capable agent before becoming Director. Myka watched the cab pull away, and then began to collect her and Christina’s things from the around the room. She paused as she passed the mirror and tugged at the dress the man had acquired for her.  
“It’s all the fashion in Paris at the moment dear; and much less conspicuous than Agent Wolcott’s trousers I dare say!” he had proclaimed as Myka had stared at the layers upon layers of silk and chiffon with disgust.

Christina had found the whole thing rather entertaining as she had helped Myka put the pieces of the dress on, in order. It was beautiful, she had to admit, but it itched and made placing vital objects like her Tesla extremely difficult. As Myka reached up to readjust her breasts for the umpteenth time, she heard a giggle behind her as the young girl emerged from the bathroom.

Myka rolled her eyes and chuckled at the girl before moving to a chair and indicating to the small foot stool. Christina moved obediently and sat down between Myka’s legs as the older woman pulled a comb through her hair and began braiding it.

By the time they were ready, and Myka had tamed her curls into something loosely 19th century-ish it was gone 9am. She scooped up the last of their things, and hurried Christina out of the door. They checked out of the hotel, thanking the staff profusely for taking such good care of them during Christina’s prolonged illness, before proceeding to an awaiting cab.

“Station de Paris-Nord s'il vous plait,” Myka requested as they stepped into the cab.

**

 **Cimetière du Rennes**  
Paris, France  
July 18, 1899  
8:30am

Getting to Christina’s casket had been a fairly easy task for the old agent. Apparently, Chaturanga thought to himself, stealing deceased children wasn’t high enough on anyone’s priority list to warrant funeral home security.

The casket had been sealed the previous evening, after everyone had said their goodbyes. The Englishman rubbed his arm absentmindedly. Helena had been holding on to him for dear life as they had sealed the lid, before finally crumbling in his arms. When she had returned to her own two feet sometime later, the man felt as if he had been staring into the eyes of someone else. H. G. Wells would never be the same.

He reached across the lid of the casket and lifted it gently away. He listened for anyone in the vicinity, but it appeared that, for the time being, he was alone. He reached into his pocket for the cloth and the bag, and holding them both away from him as Myka had warned; he proceeded to bag the artifact. Sparks flew, and then he heard the body below him take a huge breath before coughing noisily. He reached down and attempted to silence the child (well, Helena) before him.

He reached over and attempted to hand Helena some water and the child like face staring up at him blanched, shaking her head. As her breathing settled, the eyes below him simply looked up in wonder.

“Chaturanga?” she said in awe.

“Why, hello Miss Wells. Apparently it’s been some time since we’ve seen each other,” he smiled as he reached down and helped her out of the casket. “I apologise for Miss Bering’s absence, but I felt it would be much safer to keep young Miss Wells as far away from here as possible.”

Helena reached down and pulled off the thimble, and the older gentleman stared at the woman before him, taking her in. She was older; that part was certain, but she was a far cry from the shadow of a woman he had led out of the room the night before. It made him feel better knowing that she would eventually come out the other side. Although not without a few bumps along the way it would seem.

“Is she alright?” Helena asked, concern lacing her voice.

“She’s just fine, and has recovered from the whole ordeal quite nicely. Miss Bering has taken exceptionally good care of her, and I dare say the girl is quite taken with your American friend.”

Helena let out a sigh of relief before tears began to well in her eyes. “It worked,” she said in wonderment. “It actually worked.”

“Yes. However, let us not count our chickens before they have hatched, hmmm?” the older man warned before leaning down to pick up the large bag at his feet. Helena reached down to give him hand, as they situated it in the coffin and then, standing on either side, they resealed the casket.

The inventor looked across at him then. “Thank you old friend,” she said with conviction in her voice. He simply nodded across at her, a knowing look in his eyes before stepping away from the casket and pulling out his pocket watch.

“We best be leaving Miss Wells, the service will start in an hour and they’ll be here to collect the casket soon enough,” he said pointedly. “Miss Bering will meet you at the station; however she asked that I tell you there is no hurry, if you wished to stay.”

Helena shook her head. “Living through it once was bad enough. I have no desire to live through it again,” she said sternly before reaching for the thimble and slipping it on her finger. Chaturanga watched as the woman before him became a tall man of about 40, with a chiselled jaw and sharp, intelligent eyes. “A barrister I met once,” she said by way of explanation, before grinning. “It’ll also drive Myka positively mad that I am taller than her,” she winked.

Chaturanga smiled. “It would appear that some things never change, Miss Wells,” he paused, before continuing, “and I must say, any woman willing to travel through time against all of her instilled morals and values, for the sake of your daughter, is someone certainly worth keeping.”

Helena looked away guiltily from her mentor and her friend.

“Ah, so some things truly haven’t changed,” the older man said, his tone rapidly changing from that of friend, to that of father. “This girl isn’t merely another dalliance Helena; I think it would be best to start making things right, starting from today. Don’t you?” he eyed her seriously.

The inventor looked to her feet and nodded silently, satisfactorily chastised.

“Right, well now that we have settled that, I think we’ve dallied enough,” the older man said, leading them both out of the building and into the cemetery. As they reached the edge of the property, he handed her some francs before sending her on her way.

“Off you go, and I will see you all in London. Miss Bering has the all the details, she really is quite marvellous, thinks of everything,” he said, more to himself than Helena.

The inventor began walking away, but paused, turning back momentarily.

“Look after her today, won’t you?” she said, “It was a particularly difficult day.”

The older man looked at her sadly, “I give you my word Helena. I only wish my future self had done more for _you_.”

She shook her head. “You did, and will do, more than you will ever know old friend. No one could have stopped me from the path I chose, and for that, I am truly sorry. Just know that none of it rests on your shoulders,” she said before walking away from Cimetière du Rennes.

She would be forever thankful that she never had to step foot in that god awful place ever again.


	6. Back to the Future

The trip back to London was rather eventful, as an American barrister (according to his passport) with a decidedly British accent regaled a young Christina Wells with stories of adventuring in the Amazon. The girl giggled in delight as he acted out a dashing story of fighting his way out of a tribe of locals while they stood on the deck of the Calais to Dover ferry.

Myka and Chaturanga had decided it would be prudent to leave a day before he and a grieving Helena Wells, lest they crossed paths in transit.

Myka had resisted the urge to roll her eyes when her Helena had shown up at Paris Nord, tipping her hat and commenting on her “lovely dress” with a smirk. The inventor had spotted the discomfort in the curly headed brunette’s eyes. She knew all too well how painful those dresses were to wear – but found she couldn’t resist the opportunity to torture Myka just a little more. Emotions were already threatening to overwhelm the situation at hand, and the two of them had always found safe haven in their own personal brand of humour when things became too serious.

After some quick introductions and explanations (for Christina’s sake) they had set off. The three of them were the picture of a perfect nuclear family. The whole thing played well for prying eyes, the trio looking for the all the world like they were just tourists travelling through to London.

When Helena had excused herself to use the bathroom, Christina had leant up, tugging Myka down so she could whisper in her ear.  
“Do you know how she did it?” the girl asked, her voice low and questioning.

“How who did what?” Myka whispered back.

“Mummy, how did she turn herself into a man?” Christina replied, and Myka pulled back up with a start before laughing to herself.

“I think your mother has severely underestimated you Miss Wells. How did you know?” Myka asked.

“She told me that story before,” Christina grinned, “I think she forgot.”

Myka reached over and ruffled the girl’s hair, and before she could escape, Myka had pulled her up and into her arms.

“Let’s not tell her,” she whispered. “She is so _awfully_ proud of herself, we wouldn’t want to ruin her fun,” Myka continued, winking as her tone indicated a conspiracy against the ever arrogant inventor.

Christina laughed and nodded in assent before allowing Myka to carry her to the railing of the ferry to look out at the White Cliffs.

When Helena returned to the top deck, she paused as she watched Myka with her daughter. Myka was pointing out various things to her along the approaching shore, while her daughter listened intently. Christina had always been a friendly child, but Chaturanga had been right, she had taken quite the shine to one Miss Bering.

Feeling eyes on her, Myka turned around and spotted Helena. Feeling sheepish, she moved to put the girl down, but Helena simply smiled and shook her head, approaching them both and indicating that the curly headed brunette should continue. She joined them both at the railing, listening half-heartedly to Myka’s lesson as she simply took in the view before her.

The inventor hadn’t had time to notice it before, but suddenly the world seemed brighter. As she watched the sun reflect off the Cliffs, she felt a welling in her chest at the beauty of it. It had been such a very long time since she had felt anything of the sort, and she found herself fighting the urge to cry. She felt a small hand on her shoulder, and she reached up to link her much larger fingers through that of her daughters.

She looked over Myka then, and mouthed a silent thank you. The younger agent just smiled at her, passing Christina over before she returned to her focus to the approaching shore.

**

The following day, the three of them received word from Chaturanga to meet him in the Warehouse after dark. Tall, dark and masculine Helena had assured Christina that her mother would be meeting them that evening, and then he would be leaving. Christina had nodded, like a dutiful daughter. As the man picked her up, telling her he would miss her, Christina caught Myka’s eye and winked.

The agent felt a snort escape her lips and Helena look over her shoulder in suspicion before pulling the girl back and taking in the grin on her face.

“Christina Alexandria Wells!” she scolded as she put the girl down and rounded on Myka. “How long!?” she cried in disbelief.

Myka laughed again at the look on her face. “Oh, since about the time a dashing hero rescued the fair maiden from that terrifying band of Amazonian natives,” Myka snorted again.

Helena looked positively petulant. “You’re both awful!” she cried as the brunettes on either side of her burst into giggles.

Myka held out her hand, and Christina sauntered over, giving her a high five. Helena looked absolutely incensed, which only proceeded to make Myka laugh harder as the inventor placed a hand on her hip, looking decidedly feminine. “Myka!? What have you been teaching my daughter in my absence!?” the Victorian demanded.

“Nothing she won’t learn soon enough Helena, I promise,” the agent replied, the twinkle still in her eye.

Helena shook her head, “I have no idea what’s gotten into you,” Helena muttered.

Myka simply shrugged her shoulders, “Just be thankful it has Helena, or we wouldn’t be here.”

**

 **Warehouse 12**  
London, England  
July 19, 1899  
11:46pm

They arrived at the Warehouse late in the evening, as instructed. The two women led Christina by the hand as they wove their way through a number of tunnels before surfacing in the main building. Any hope Helena had had of sheltering the girl from a ‘World of Endless Wonder’ was quickly disappearing.

She ushered Myka ahead so she could remove the thimble, and as she re-joined them, Christina stared at her in wonder. “Is it magic?” she asked.  
“Something like that, my love,” Helena winked as the girl smiled with glee, reaching up to grab her mother's hand and swing their arms together as they walked.

They met Chaturanga at the main entrance, and Helena helped guide them back to where they came in. “I left the instructions in my diary as you requested Miss Bering, and the other agents are either in their beds or out on assignment this evening. We won’t be disturbed,” he said.

The American agent nodded. “So we wait,” she said.

“We wait,” Helena affirmed.

“How about some tea?” the older gentleman asked. The three brunette’s before him simply nodded.

**

 **Warehouse 13**  
Univille, South Dakota  
April 15, 2014  
2:00pm

“Uhhh, Artie?” Steve said suddenly, “I think I’ve got something.”

Pete and Artie were at his side in an instant, questions flying.  
  
“Are they alright!?”  
“Where are they!?”  
“Are they in Warehouse 12!?”  
“Whose journal is that!?”  
“Have they got someone else involved in this!?”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Steve cried, backing away. “I don’t know. It’s the old Director’s journal – something weird just _appeared_ in an entry for the 19 th,” he explained.

“The 19th!?!?” Artie and Pete proclaimed at the same time.

“Well, if they landed in London, had to travel to Paris, and then get back to London – all the while stopping a murder and then ensuring that everyone in the 19th century thought that Christina was dead, to ensure the timeline stayed relatively the same and H. G. still went cray cray – yeah that could take you a week or so,” Claudia noted, her hand rubbing her chin as she pondered the possible chain of events.

“Let me see that,” Artie snapped, snatching the journal from Steve’s hands.

“Hey!?” the walking lie detector exclaimed. “No need to get so grabby,” he muttered.

Artie read the entry. Twice.

‘ _I met a lovely young couple and their daughter today on my return from Paris. The girl reminded me ever so much of a young Miss Wells, and I still find myself deeply affected by her loss. In fact, as I sit in the Warehouse, close to midnight this very evening, I hope for some miracle that could reunite her with her mother. Time Travel seems as far-fetched as anything, but who knows what may happen in the future?’ C._ _  
_

“Claudia, have you had any luck?” the current Director demanded.

“I’m trying Artie, I really am,” the girl said apologetically as she got to her feet and began stripping off her gloves, throwing them at her feet, “but that last run blew apart some of the mechanics. I’m going to need to strip the whole thing down and try to build it back up again with new parts. It could take me hours, maybe longer if any of the parts are ‘H. G. Wells originals’,” she said.

“Regardless of how long it takes here, we can still go back to the same point there, can’t we?” Steve said. “I mean, it’s not as though time there, with Myka and H. G. Wells, is moving at the same time as it is here, right? I mean, what I mean is – “

“Stop! You’re making my head spin!” Pete yelled, before turning to Claudia. “There’s nothing you can do faster?” he asked, knowing it was unfair to put so much pressure on her.

The redhead shook her head. “I’m sorry Pete,” she said apologetically. “What I need is time,” she said before cringing at the pun.

 _  
_**

 **Warehouse 12**  
London, England  
July 19, 1899  
1:00am

Helena was leant up against one of the stacks near where they had come through the first time. Christina was fast asleep with her head in her lap; and the inventor stroked her hands through her daughters hair soothingly, unable to keep her hands off her. Now that she was back in her own body once again (or so to speak), she was terrified that if she let the girl go for a single second she would disappear again.

Chaturanga was currently attempting to cure Myka of her aversion to chess. Little did he know; he was the very reason for that aversion in the first place.  
“I just don’t understand it Miss Bering!” he muttered, before continuing. “You have quite the natural gift for the game!”

“Oh Chaturanga, do leave the poor woman alone. Let’s just say it had something to do with an artifact and leave it at that shall we?” Helena chided.

“Well, alright. If you insist. However, I still think it’s a terrible waste. You ought to teach her play properly Helena, when she overcomes this obvious hatred for the game…in the future,” he said playfully and she scowled, knowing where this was headed.

“That will be enough of that, if you please,” she said, her tone clipped.

Myka raised her eyebrows, choosing to ignore whatever conversation they were alluding to; yet getting the feeling it had everything to do with her.

The agent, now back in her old clothes and out of that horrific dress, looked down at her watch.  
“It’s been over an hour,” she said then, “what on earth is taking them so long?”

“I’m sure everything is fine, darling,” the inventor said. Myka could see the concern in her eyes however, as it perfectly mimicked her own.

They had chosen not to discuss the possibility that something had gone wrong with the time machine, something possibly irreparable. They both knew only one other way to get people into the future, and the thought alone made Myka’s skin crawl.

Both women looked down at the sleeping form in Helena’s lap.

**

 **Warehouse 13**  
Univille, South Dakota  
April 15, 2014  
6:00pm

“Oh no,” Artie said suddenly, as Pete looked up from his burger.

“What?” he mumbled through a mouthful of beef, swallowing quickly. “What is it Artie?” he demanded, wiping his chin.

The older man began reading.

‘ _As I found myself still unable to sleep, despite the early morning hour, I decided to take a walk through the bronze sector. What caused them all to end up here, in my Warehouse? Were they demons, or merely stuck in the wrong place at the wrong time? If I were ever to be bronzed, I would hope that I would be stored away safely, to be awoken at a time when I could finally be at peace, not left lying next to some obscure Egyptian terrorist.’_ _C._

“They wouldn’t!” Claudia cried; memories of her short bronzing coming to mind. “No, I can fix this, I can!” she yelled in frustration, channelling Pete and giving the machine a kick.

She jumped back, as it came to life.

Pete tossed his burger aside and grabbed his Tesla from the floor.

“Pete wait!” Claudia cried, “I don’t know how accurate the – “ she stopped as the agent plunged through the open portal.

“No!” Artie cried as both Steve and Claudia moved to follow. “I will _not_ lose any more agents. Stay where you are!”  

They both ground to a halt.

“What were you about to say?” he demanded as he turned to Claudia.

The redhead threw up her hands, “The date setting should be fine, but I don’t know how accurate the time is, that component was pretty banged up and I hadn’t got to it yet!” she yelled in frustration.

“Worry about that later, for now, we need to do everything in our power to keep that portal open!” he barked.

**

 **Warehouse 12**  
London, England  
July 19, 1899  
5:00am

“We can’t afford to be out in the open any longer Helena,” Myka whispered urgently. “This has gone on too long as it is. The risk of changes to the future, not to mention discovery is only going to increase, we need to go back.”

The agent reached back into the pocket of her jeans and produced Nathaniel Kleitman’s glasses, right where she had left them. “If we put these on Christina, she’ll sleep through the whole thing.”

Helena threw her hands up in frustration. “What about you!?” she cried. “We can’t remove any artifacts from this Warehouse! I’ve been through this before Myka, you can’t seriously be considering this.”

“I’m not considering Helena, I’m telling. There’s nothing else we can do from here. In less than an hour, agents are going to be back in this Warehouse, and life in the 19th century will carry on. We can’t risk running about the countryside, trampling on more butterflies. I don’t see any other option,” she finished quietly.

The inventor ran a shaky hand through her hair. “For goodness’ sake, you shouldn’t even be here,” she cried quietly.

“Neither of us should,” she said, grabbing the Helena’s face in her hands and forcing her to look at her, “but a week ago I thought I was _dying_ , Helena” she said seriously. “I chose to be here,” Myka affirmed, her grip softening as she moved down to cup the Victorian's cheeks, “and I’m glad I did. She’s an amazing kid, and I would do it all again in a heartbeat, regardless of the outcome” she said assuredly, wiping a stray tear from the inventors cheek with her thumb as they trickled onto her hands. “Once upon another timeline, you sacrificed yourself to save my life. Nobody's dying today. Alright?" she said forcefully, her eyes locked with the Brit's.

The inventor nodded, tilting her head back and sniffing as Myka released her from her grip. The Brit reached up with her hands to scrub her face, shaking it off. She sniffed again before straightening her back and nodding. 

"And anyway," Myka added, in mock afterthought, "what’s a century or so? Artie did say I needed to take some leave,” she finished wryly, forcing a grin onto her face.

Helena choked out a laugh. Only Myka Ophelia Bering could make a joke at a time like this. Only Myka could convince her they could do this. Only Myka could stand in front of her and tell her everything was going to be okay, and she would actually believe it.

Helena's eyes widened slightly as the realizations ticked over her mind. She loved Myka, she had always known that, but in that moment she couldn't understand how she had ever gone a single day without her.  Chaturanga was right. This was no dalliance, it never had been. If it had been, she wouldn't have run so hard and so fast. She had juggled multiple lovers in the past, but Myka was _different._ She had  _always_ been different; and Christ if that didn't terrify the living daylights out of her.

Helena had never had anything real in her life. She had loved, but always at a distance. Men always betrayed her in the end, and women, well, they only lasted as long as their next engagement, forever bound by the expectations of the time and, like her, never willing to publicly spit in the face of respectable society.

Yet there, standing in front of her was someone she knew she could always trust. Someone who knew her so well that explanations were given in looks, not sentences and paragraphs. A smart, intelligent, independent individual with the ability to still the demons in her mind, and for goodness' sake, make her  _laugh_. All she had ever wanted in a person was encompassed in the woman standing right there, by her side for everything, and waiting for her patiently with arms crossed, head tilted, and her face wearing a goofy grin. 

She was the world's biggest pillock. Running had solved nothing. They still found themselves thrown together, the pull just as strong, if not stronger between them. Try as she might, Helena G. Wells would always be an agent of the Warehouse. Many months ago, she cried it out like it was a curse destined to bring her misery and unhappiness. Today it was the biggest gift anyone could have bestowed upon her. If she had been less of a person, less of an agent, Christina would still be dead; and she wouldn't have Myka Ophelia Bering. Boone was all wrong. It would never be enough for her. This,  _this_ would always be enough. Bering and Wells, solving puzzles and saving the day; and today's puzzle had been the biggest of them all. 

The curly headed brunette's watched as the inventor warred with her thoughts before finally coming to a decision. However, it wasn't the decision she expected. As lips suddenly crashed into hers, her mind went blank in shock. Everything around her became still, before it all came roaring back in a tidal wave of confusion, and emotion before finally settling into a feeling that she could only describe as  _right_. She could feel the inventor’s lips on hers, pouring every apology, every lost moment and missed opportunity into this single physical act. It was their beginning, their middle and their end. It was everything she hadn't realized she'd been missing she thought, as her hands moved of their own accord to lace themselves in Helena's hair, pulling her deeper. 

As they pulled apart, breathing laboured, Helena was the first to speak. 

“Myka, I’m ever so sorry,” Helena began, “I made a terrible mistake many months ago, and I'll probably make many more,” she said.

“So all it took was a little time travel for you to notice, hmmm?” Myka whispered, the need for levity desperate as her heart threatened to explode out of her chest. 

“Oh darling, I noticed the day you decided to cuff me to that chair, in my own house of all places!” the inventor cried in mock outrage, grinning. 

"You strapped me to a ceiling," Myka shot back. "I think we're even." 

Helena stroked her cheek, her face turning serious. "We will never be even, not in this lifetime or the next. You have no idea what you've given me today," Helena whispered shakily. 

Myka leant down, recapturing the brunettes lips in her own briefly before pulling away.

“Are you ready?” she asked. 

“I am now,” the Brit responded. 

**

Helena held Christina as Myka gently placed the glasses on the girl’s nose. They were a little big, but the child fell straight into slumber.

Together, the two women carried her to the bronzer, leaning her as straight as they could manage. “See you soon, my love,” Helena whispered, pressing a kiss to the girl’s forehead, before backing out of the machine under Myka’s gentle guidance. Helena gripped the agents arm tightly as Chaturanga activated the bronzer.

Together they carried Christina to a waiting sarcophagus (seriously, how many spare coffins did they have lying around?) before returning to face the machine together. Myka gently removed Helena’s hand from her own before stepping forward into the bronzer. Her heart pounded in fear, but she gritted her teeth and turned around to stare into the face of her future.

She smiled tearfully at Helena as the woman before her looked horrified. The inventor moved to step forward, but Myka held up a hand causing her to halt in her tracks. “I’ll see you soon,” she said as she indicated to Chaturanga over the Victorian’s shoulder. The older man stepped forward toward the panel and activated the machine.

As the door slid shut, Helena ran forward, pressing her hand to the glass. Myka simply smiled as she was consumed by the bronze. The inventor cried out as the smoke cleared and door slid open to reveal the curly headed brunette, the same expression still held on her face.

Chaturanga came up behind her and rested a hand on her shoulder. “She did this for you my dear girl, just remember that,” he said quietly, “she wouldn’t want you to spend the next century or so flagellating yourself.”

Helena nodded before turning to him. She pulled the older man to her and gripped him close. “I want you to know, I will and do miss you more than anyone else, my dear old friend.”

Chaturanga pulled her back and reached up to touch her face. “Live well Helena, that’s all that I ask.”

She nodded before taking a deep breath and straightening her back. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?” she said shakily. Together they moved Myka to join Christina before returning for a final time to the bronzer.

“I think we’ve said all we needed to say Miss Wells, and I’ve always been terrible at goodbyes so all I will say is good luck,” the older man said.

Helena clasped his hand and moved to step towards the bronzer.

As she stepped foot inside the machine for the second time in her life, her mentor called out suddenly, as if caught by a last moment thought. 

“Did they ever manage to brew the perfect cup of tea?” he asked, smiling.

“Certainly not in America,” she responded, laughing, thankful for the distraction as he moved to press the button.

“Myka!” a booming voice sounded out, causing the older man to pause and spin around as Pete Lattimer came flying around the corner. As her recently bronzed companion’s partner took in the sight before his eyes, he growled. He launched towards Helena, a rage fuelled, “You!” bubbling up and out of his mouth as he grabbed her and pulled her forcefully from the capsule like machine.

The inventor stumbled, but Pete held a firm grip on her arm, tugging her upright to face him. “What have you done!? Where is she!?” he demanded, his face reddened slightly from the exertion and completely from anger.

One look towards the bronzer told him all he needed to know.

“We can – “ she began, before he shook his head. “We can’t, there isn’t time!” he said angrily.

“I would ask you to keep your voice down young man before you disturb something in the Warehouse,” Chaturanga requested in a quiet, but forceful tone.

Pete released Helena’s arm and shook his head. “Why is it that _every_ time you show up, everything turns to hell,” he said quietly.

“I’m sorry Pete,” she cried. “Go back the way you came and let me join them,” she requested desperately.

“No,” he said sharply. “God help me, but she would never forgive me if you came out more cuckoo than you already are,” he said before grabbing her hand. “Come on!” he ordered, pulling her back in the direction he came.

Chaturanga followed behind them, and watched as Pete shoved his protégé unceremoniously through a large portal in the middle of his Warehouse. The brawny agent inclined his head in the older gentleman’s direction.

“That was one nasty puzzle by the way,” he grinned apologetically as he backed through after her.

Chaturanga watched as the portal wavered, and then disappeared as he stared on in confusion and shock. He moved closer to the wall, to inspect that it truly was _just_ a wall.

The Warehouse was suddenly deathly silent and the Director began to wonder if the last few days hadn’t simply been a bad case of the mushrooms.

**

 **Warehouse 13**  
Univille, South Dakota  
April 15, 2014  
6:05pm

As the two agents, one current and one former plunged back into the Warehouse, the Time Machine gave another hiss of protest before blowing a gasket once again. Claudia jumped back to avoid the sparks, cursing as she landed on her ass.

“Where’s Myka?” Artie demanded as he took in a dishevelled H. G. Wells, trying to regain her footing.

“Ask her!” Pete yelled, pulling his Tesla on the woman.

H. G. was silent as the four agents stared at her, her face a picture of guilt.

“She bronzed Myka!” Pete yelled, when it was obvious the author had, for once, lost her words.

 Artie’s face turned angry. “You what!?” he demanded of Helena.

“I bronzed them both!” the inventor yelled back, her back straightening and her eyes flashing. “I bronzed them both,” she said desperately, “for goodness’ sake let me get them out!” she pleaded.

“We could – “ Claudia began, as Steve helped her to her feet.

Artie rounded on her, his finger raised. “No! No more Time Travel! No one is to touch that god forsaken machine until we find out what kind of _damage_ you two have caused,” he finished darkly, rounding on Helena. “Lead the way,” he ordered.

Helena stood there looking helpless. “I don’t know where they are, not in this time. Myka said _you_ would know where to find us. Didn’t you read Chaturanga’s message?” she asked, before continuing. “Something to do with Egyptian terrorists,” the inventor said, snapping her fingers as it came back to her.

“Oh Myka, you’re a genius!” Pete exclaimed, before taking off at a run, the rest of them on his heels.

As they ran down the aisles, Pete led them towards the same place they had found Paracelsus v2.0 only yesterday. There, along the aisle, were two additional caskets, where yesterday there had been only one. “That’s them!” Helena cried in relief as the four agents and the inventor bolted towards the coffins.

Artie plucked up one of the label cards and raised an eyebrow, “Mistress of Ralph Brunsky, Egyptian terrorist?” he said. Pete laughed at his own joke once again, while the rest of them raised their brows in unison.

“Hey! It worked didn’t it?!” he exclaimed. “Twice!” he added smugly, before putting his hands to his pockets, mirroring his actions of the previous day. “I don’t have the keys…” he said, trailing off, his bravado slipping. 

“Don’t need em’,” Claudia said as she tossed him a crowbar, Steve already advancing with another one in his grip.

Between the two of them, they pried the lid off the first casket and there was a collective sigh of relief as Myka’s face came into view, apparently all in one (albeit bronze) piece. Helena grabbed the crowbar from Pete’s hands, as he and Artie moved to remove the lid off the curly headed brunette’s century long resting place.

She asked Steve to assist her with the second sarcophagus, rushing to pry it open. As the lid opened, the heavy piece of iron slipped from her grip and clattered to the floor. She stood stock still, the breath stolen from her lungs. It was empty.

“No…” she whispered. It wasn’t possible. They had done everything, _everything_ right. She gripped the edge of the casket, her knuckles turning white. “This is all wrong!” she yelled, slamming her fists down on the edge.

Gentle hands clasped her shoulders, pulling her away from the casket. She fought against them, rage building in her chest. There would be no coming back from it this time, she thought, as it crawled its way up through her body and her ears began to roar with the pounding of her heart. 

“No,” Claudia said gently, gripping her shoulders more firmly and turning her around, “ _this_ is all _right,_ ” she said softly. 

There, resting below them were Myka and Christina, with a fading note resting on top of the agent's chest. 

_'A century is a long time to spend alone.' C._


	7. A New Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue to follow.

_The brunette Victorian drew closer to Myka with a twinkle in her eyes and a knowing smirk gracing her lips._

_She stepped forward, invading the taller woman's territory.  
_

_"If you didn’t believe me," she said, "just a little," she smiled before taking a step closer, "you'd have shot me by now."_

_The inventor's face was mere inches from her own, and it was like everything around her had fallen away. All that Myka could see in that moment was Helena G. Wells. She moved to touch her,_ _but the ever elusive author danced back out of her reach and walked towards the door. She_ _placed a hand on the door frame, stopping as she reached the entrance._

_Helena glanced back over her shoulder, her face turning from playful to serious._

_"Myka, I-" she began._

_“Oh shut up Helena," the agent said as she leapt forward and grabbed the inventor, pulling her into a searing kiss._

**

 **The B &B**  
Univille, South Dakota  
April 20, 2014  
10:47am

Myka Ophelia Bering smiled as her eyes opened slowly and she stretched out, greeting the day. She looked to her left and noting the lamp was still on, she reached over and flicked it off before slumping back onto the bed and appreciating the mid-morning sun. A small chuckle from the doorway caused her to open one eye and she poked out her tongue at the figure leant against the frame, arms crossed and hip cocked out to the side.

“I’m beginning to think you’re enjoying your leave a little too much, darling,” Helena said in an amused tone, “you are aware that it’s almost 11am?”

“House arrest,” Myka corrected as she sat up and smirked, pushing her curls out of her face.

“Yes, well, be thankful that’s all that it is,” Helena laughed as she strolled over, a cup of coffee in her hand.

The inventor had taken to waiting on Myka hand and foot, and although the agent knew she shouldn’t encourage it, she had to admit she was enjoying have one up on the Brit for the time being. As the curly headed brunette accepted the offering with a grateful grin, she spotted Helena’s searching eyes.

“I slept fine,” she said gently, “I promise.”

**

 **Warehouse 13**  
Univille, South Dakota  
April 15, 2014  
6:30pm

As the smoke cleared and the door to the bronzer slid open, Agent Myka Bering barely had time to blink before she was falling forward into strong, masculine arms. Her mind raced back over a hundred years in an instant, as the distantly familiar smell of Pete’s aftershave, mingled with sweat overpowered her senses. She couldn’t stop her mind from racing as everything else began to wake up alongside her olfactory senses. At first it was the sound of the Warehouse, the distant creaks and groans, all the familiar quirks of the building she had now officially spent the majority of her life in. Then the sounds were closer. Steve, she thought as she heard a serious male voice tell someone to “give her some space to breathe, it’s been over a hundred years for her Claude,” his tone at once both commanding and gentle.

“She better be alright,” she heard another voice growl; “this is on you!” barked a grumpy yet familiar tone. Artie, she thought, as felt herself try to smile. She was so unused to the movement. It felt completely alien and she felt her heart begin clamouring in her chest, trying to keep up with the sudden stress in her mind. She felt familiar panic clawing up in chest and she tried to breathe through it. Oh god she could breathe again, she thought to herself. As she drew breath after rapid breath, she found she couldn’t stop and things began to spin. Her mind travelled to those first few days in the bronze, her consciousness aware but unable to recreate those actions that her body was so used to everyday. It was like being in a straightjacket with her mouth taped shut. It was pitch black, she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe and she was fighting a war in her mind as the panic vied for dominion. She had gained control eventually, her focus on a bright eyed young girl and an infuriatingly charming inventor.

The agent spent long time thinking about Helena after that. The Victorian had survived this, and the knowledge that she had, helped Myka soothe her erratic thoughts. She had only ever spoken to the artificer once about her time in the bronze. When she asked her how she had kept her sanity for all those years, the Brit’s eyes had grown distant, before telling her that having something to focus on, to plan for, helped keep her mind in order.

So that’s what Myka did. She planned multiple scenarios on how they would escape punishment from the Regents. Then she planned how they would escape the Regents themselves. She planned Warehouse family gatherings, birthdays, holidays, vacations, school field trips and graduations. She planned real family gatherings, parental introductions and explanations for the unexplained.

Every book on history she had ever read came to life. She imagined a World War, a time of depression and suffering, followed by another World War as the Warehouse in London shuddered under the bombardment of the Blitz. She imagined a country full of men, fighting for their right to be recognized for something other than colour of their skin; and women standing in the streets demanding to be recognized for something other than their ability to keep the home fires burning.

She wrote novels of love, of death, and of a world full of endless wonder. She sat on the edge of a cliff, Hemingway’s typewriter heavy in her lap as she watched the world turn before her eyes. She wrote pages and pages, pulling them free and letting them drift out into time as multiple suns rose and set in front of her eyes. She imagined the end of the universe as they knew it.

Time moved slowly at first, but then so quickly that she lost track of it as she wandered throughout the depths of her own mind, but never alone. Helena was never far from her thoughts, always next to her, ready with a wry grin and witty remark. She imagined countless conversations and bickering arguments, followed by quiet nights in an open aired library lit only by the stars.

She created a life so fantastical, yet so wonderful that she never wanted to leave it. She wrapped herself in its warmth and kept looking forward, refusing to look back; but now it was gone, ripped away in a single moment.

Reality was terrifying, and she couldn’t breathe.

**

Pete Lattimer had no idea what to do with the panic stricken woman that was hyperventilating in his arms. This wasn’t a Myka he knew how to comfort; this wasn’t a Myka from a barely a few hours before. He looked around at the only other person who had _any_ experience with centuries long bronzing, and stared at her with pleading eyes. “For Christ’s sake H. G, _do something_ ,” he said desperately.

“Just let her go Pete,” Helena said quietly as she pulled her arm gently from Artie’s grip. The older agent was too distracted by the sight before him to bother arguing. Pete did has he was told, pulling away from Myka, ensuring she had her balance before edging away. He watched as his partner stood stock still, her eyes clenched shut and her teeth gritted like she was fighting a war inside that none of them could see or understand. Helena moved to stand next to him, watching Myka with keen eyes.

“Myka?” the inventor said quietly, “its Helena, are you alright?”

The dishevelled brunette shook her head, bringing her hands up to grip her temples desperately.

“I know it’s difficult, darling,” she said quietly, taking a tentative forward, “but that world’s not real. This is real, and I need you to come back now,” she said, her whispered words carrying through the sudden silence in the Warehouse. She took another step forward towards the shaking agent, reaching out her hands to rest gently atop Myka’s. “Open your eyes now, my love,” she ordered gently.

The agent did as she was told, slowly blinking as everything around her came into focus, but only one thing was truly real.

“Helena?” she rasped, in a voice unused for one hundred and fifteen years as she stared down into the searching eyes before her.

The inventor let out a breath she hadn’t realised she had been holding.

“You’re really here?” the shaky agent said then, reaching out a hand to touch porcelain skin, her breathing returning to normal as she stared in wonderment.

“I’m here,” the Brit responded, “I never left,” she finished quietly.

Connections crackled to life in Myka’s brain as the mist in her mind faded and images ploughed into her head, vivid and lifelike as her current reality crashed through her imagination and gripped hold of threads from the past.

_A portal._

_Men’s trousers._

_Train stations._

_Ferries._

_Chamber pots._

_A grinning Victorian inventor._

_Glass shattering over Parisian streets._

_Rescues._

_Christina._

_A mentor._

_Christina._

_A kiss._

_Helena._

_Christina…_

“Christina!” the woman suddenly cried out hoarsely.

Helena shuddered in relief as she watched Myka’s eyes light up like Nikola himself had flicked the switch. One could always rely on the curly headed brunette’s protective instinct.

She looked behind her and indicated to where Steve and Claudia stood; a small child standing between them. Christina’s face lit up in delight, as she pulled away and ran towards her mother and the agent.

Myka’s world finally stopped spinning as she caught the girl in her arms.

In fact, it stood still.

**

 **The B &B**  
Univille, South Dakota  
April 15, 2014  
9:00pm

Abigail walked out of Myka’s room and nodded towards Mrs. Fredrick as she exited.

“Don’t push too hard,” the therapist said, “She’s been through a traumatic ordeal and she’s still struggling to tease the fantasy from the reality,” she warned.

“I’m not here to push,” Mrs. Fredrick said as she walked towards Myka’s door and knocked gently before letting herself in.

The young agent was standing in the centre of the room, just staring out of the window.

“When are they coming?” Myka asked pointedly, not bothering to turn around.

“When are who coming Miss Bering?” Mrs. Fredrick asked.

“The Regents,” the agent said, turning around, “That’s why you’re here isn’t it?”

“No,” the Caretaker said then. “I’m here to ask you what your intentions are.”

“My intentions?” Myka said then.

“Yes Miss Bering, your intentions. Please take a seat,” she said, indicating towards the bed. Myka followed her orders and sat down, before the older woman sat next to her.

“You’ve been through quite the ordeal,” the Caretaker noted almost nonchalantly, before continuing. “I want to know whether you feel up to continuing your duties, following a leave of absence.”

Myka stared at her incredulously. “You want me to stay? After what we did?”

“I want you both where I can find you,” the older woman said honestly. “Miss Wells has made it quite clear that where you go, she and Christina go,” the caretaker said, “although I don’t think Helena had all that much say in the matter,” she said, a rare smile quirking at the corners of her mouth. “All I want are your assurances that you won’t try to run. Leave the Regents up to me.”

Myka shook her head, standing up before pacing the room. “You can’t tell me they’re just going to let this go?” she said incredulously.

“Let it go? No, I highly doubt it. What you and Miss Wells did was highly reckless and put the entire Warehouse, not to mention, the world as we know it in danger,” she said pointedly. “Unfortunately, there is very little we can do to reverse the situation as Claudia assures me that the Time Machine is irreparable at this stage….

**

 **Warehouse 13**  
Univille, South Dakota  
April 15, 2014  
6:50pm

“They’re going to want to reverse this,” Claudia said to Pete quietly.

“Who?” Pete whispered as he watched Myka and Helena converse with a highly animated eight year old who had decided that Christmas had come early, in the form of ‘Endless Wonder’. The tea kettle had found its new target immediately on arrival, and Helena had panicked, bagging the item immediately before launching into a lecture with the girl about the danger of artifacts. It seemed like Christina Wells had taken the whole situation a hell of a lot better than he and Myka (okay, just Myka) had on their first entrance into the Warehouse. The partner in question leaned against inventor for support, looking weary, but strangely alright. Whatever had happened to them on their little tour had changed something. Despite everything, Myka looked _happy._ Helena, he noted smugly, looked guilty, as she should.

He couldn’t help the small twinge of jealousy that crept into his gut. Kelly had never really understood what it meant to be an agent of the Warehouse. His partner had found someone who knew better than anyone.  

“The Regents,” Claudia whispered.

“What are you suggesting?” Pete said, his protective instinct flaring. If this was what Myka wanted, than this is what she would have. He wouldn’t let anyone stand in her way.

“A little bit of tinkering with the source cables, a quick jolt and I could probably burn out enough of the components to ensure that this thing is nothing more than an oversized paperweight until H. G. herself decides to fix it,” Claudia said in a casual tone, as though speaking about the weather, “and I can’t see _that_ happening any time soon,” she said as she followed Pete’s line of sight.

She picked up a wrench and flipped it in her hands, whistling to herself as she leant on the machine and reached down with one hand, tinkering while her eyes remained on Pete.

“Did you say there was absolutely no way to fix it, Claudia?” Pete exclaimed in faux devastation, as he watched the girl flick her wrist one more time before kicking her foot back and switching her on. There was small explosion, before the smell of burning metal reached everyone’s nose.

Helena and Myka looked up in alarm.

“Oops,” the redhead said before shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly, a shit eating grin plastered all over her face.

**

 **The B &B**  
Univille, South Dakota  
April 15, 2014  
9:05pm

…which is a good thing being as this team seems to have developed a very bad habit of involving themselves in matters of time travel,” Mrs. Fredrick said sternly. “H. G. Wells’ Time Machine, along with the artifacts used to activate it will be relocated to a secure facility in the morning. In addition to this, the two of you will be confined to the B&B. Helena is barred from any and all access to the Warehouse until further notice. However, given your record, I feel probationary access will suffice, until such a time I decide to return you to full active duty.”

Myka stared at Mrs. Fredrick, gobsmacked. This was light punishment, barely a slap on the wrist! They had travelled through _time_ for Christ’s sake. They could have destroyed the whole world, changed the course of history, and prevented the birth of countless individuals destined to do great things.

She threw up her hands. “This goes beyond insane! Probation!? House arrest!? Last time Helena put the world at risk you stuffed her consciousness in a little black sphere!” she cried out incredulously.

Mrs. Fredrick raised her eyebrow. “At that time H. G. Wells was a danger to herself, and to everyone around her. She was an uncalculated risk that we simply couldn’t afford to have roaming about unchecked. I think that danger has officially passed, don’t you?”

Myka nodded, but still appeared incensed by the situation.

“Do you want me to punish you both Myka?” Mrs. Fredrick asked then, getting to her feet and halting the agents pacing. “Would it assuage your guilt if I had the Regents take Christina away from Helena?”

“No!” Myka said immediately.

“Good, then assure me that the two of you won’t attempt to run with the girl, and let me speak to the Regents on your behalf,” the older woman said, with a little edge in her tone.

The agent moved to sit on the edge of her bed, her hands gripping the tops of her thighs. “We won’t run,” she said quietly, “but promise me nothing will happen to them,” she looked into the older woman’s eyes sharply, accentuating her next point, “to _either_ of them. I was the agent, I could have stopped it, and I’ll take full responsibility, including any punishment that is to come as a result.”

“You have my word,” the Caretaker said. “However, I think almost 115 years in the bronze was probably sufficient punishment, don’t you Miss Bering?” she finished pointedly before exiting the room and leaving Myka to her musings.

The agent slumped back on her bed, exhausted, but too terrified to close her eyes. Abigail had offered her a sedative, but she couldn’t bear the thought of a less than clear mind right now.

A tentative knock at her door distracted her from her thoughts and she stood up to answer it. Helena stood there looking for all the world like she had just run over Myka’s proverbial dog. The agent opened her door wider and made way for the inventor.

“Where’s Christina?” she asked as she closed the door to give them some privacy.

“Pete’s watching her, likely stuffing her full of sugar,” the Victorian responded, rolling her eyes before continuing. “You’d never know she just spent over a century in bronze,” Helena laughed, the smile lighting up her entire face. Myka watched her, the expression only solidifying that the entire thing had been worth it.

Helena kept her distance, her smile faltering as she looked down at her feet. “I thought you would be in need of some peace and quiet. However, I couldn’t quite bring myself to leave you alone, not just yet,” the author said quietly.

“Good,” Myka said as she leant past the inventor to lock the door and then pressed the older woman back against it. Helena gasped as she found herself trapped between the solid wood and the tall woman before her; the agent’s eyes stormy and dark as she looked up.

“Tell me this is real,” Myka whispered. “Tell me you’re really here, that _we’re_ really here, that this isn’t all part of another dream,” she asked, desperation lacing her tone.

“Oh my love,” Helena replied, heartbroken. “This isn’t a dream,” she said gently, assuring the woman towering over her, “I promise you that.”

Myka closed her eyes and nodded, leaning her head forward to rest against the inventors. “You were there you know,” Myka said quietly, “always telling me to soldier on. Eventually it all became so perfect. I was so happy, and for the first time in so long, something other than Warehouse made me happy.”

“And that will continue,” Helena promised as she reached up and pulled the agent closer, “I promise you,” she swore with all the conviction she could convey.

“What about – “ Myka began and Helena silenced her with a soft, comforting kiss.

“I spoke to Nate this evening. He was surprisingly understanding, but I did promise to come and explain things to Adelaide as soon as I was able. I owe him that much,” she said, pain lacing her voice.

Myka nodded in assent. “So this is us?” the agent asked shakily.

“You, Christina and I,” Helena said then, “If you’re willing, darling.”

“What about the Warehouse?” Myka asked then. “I know you wanted out, but if we agree to Mrs. Fredrick’s terms, if we stay, there will be no leaving, at least not for a while.”

“I owe the Warehouse a great debt, which will take a lifetime to repay. Right now, I will gladly pay it to keep my daughter safe,” Helena said. “I could never ask you to give up your life here, your family. I know how happy it makes you. Frankly, it’s where we both belong Myka. I was a fool to think I could walk away from ‘Endless Wonder.’”

Myka sighed, and she slumped forward slightly. Relief, exhaustion, fear and confusion were all warring in her mind. Helena pulled her close and the two agents just stood, leaning against the door in silence for a time. The inventor rubbed soothing circles on her back.

“Come my love, let’s get you to bed,” she said gently, pressing them off the door and walking them further into the room. She sat Myka down and clasped her hands over the agent’s cheeks, leaning down to rest her lips gently against the other woman’s. “I’ll be back shortly,” she whispered before pulling away.

**

“How is she?” Pete asked, looking up as Helena returned to the living room to find him and Christina huddled over a puzzle on the floor.

“As good as can be expected,” Helena sighed, running a hand through her hair.

Pete had a number of choice words for the inventor, but as he took in the woman’s expression he simply couldn’t bring himself to do it, particularly not in front of her daughter. The kid was cute, and he was struggling to stay angry at the Brit. If it had been his kid, he would have done the same. He watched as Christina quickly finished her half of the puzzle and began working on his side; apparently he was too slow for the daughter of the great and powerful H. G. Wells.

“So you’re staying then?” the man asked her, ruffling the kids hair as he got to his feet. Christina protested, with a drawn out “Peeete.”

“It would seem that way, yes,” Helena said. “I’m ever so sorry for the inconvenience Peter, I know how much you enjoy my company,” she said wryly.

He shrugged his shoulders, “I always wanted a British butler. How do you like the name Alfred?”

Helena rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face.

Pete stepped forward. “I’m really happy for you H. G, truly,” he said, before his face turned serious. “But if you mess with Myka, I’ll stuff you back in that bronzer and bury you in the desert for the rest of eternity. You feel me?”

“I give you my word,” she said seriously. This time, he actually believed her.

“Hey,” he said, a thought suddenly coming to mind. “Can you cook?”

Christina burst out laughing behind him.

Well, you couldn’t blame a guy for hoping, right?

**

Helena had pondered giving Christina a bath, but the thought of explaining 21st century plumbing for the next hour made her think better of it. She was exhausted. For over a century she had carried her grief around with her, and suddenly it was gone, only to be replaced with hope for a bright future she had never imagined for herself. She felt like she could finally rest.

As she led Christina to Myka’s room to say goodnight, she warned the girl that her new favourite person wasn’t feeling so well, and to be gentle with her this evening. Christina nodded, her face wrinkling in concern. “She’ll be okay my love,” Helena assured.

Christina knocked gently on Myka’s door. “Myka?” she called out quietly. “May I come in?”

“Please do Miss Wells,” the agent called out softly.

Myka was sitting up in bed, a novel gripped in her hand. She smiled as the girl took a tentative step in, closing her book and placing on the side table. She pat the bed next to her and the girl pattered over, leaping up and crawling next to the agent.

“What are you reading?” the girl asked.

Myka laughed, “The Time Machine,” she said then. “You had some very valid points I wished to check on,” the agent said in faux seriousness.

“Will you read to me?” the girl asked then.

“Christina…” Helena said warningly, and Myka looked up to take in the Victorian standing a little awkwardly in the doorway.

“It’s fine Helena,” Myka said, before indicating to the vacant half of the bed. “Would like a bedtime story too Miss Wells? I’m not sure if you’ve heard this one before,” she smirked.

Helena smiled and shook her head in wonderment. “That would be lovely Miss Bering,” she said as she walked into the room, closing the door behind her. She made her way over to the bed, removing her shoes as she went.

The Victorian lay down next to Christina, placing a kiss on the girls head as Myka leant over and plucked her book off the side table.

“The Time Traveller (for so it will be convenient to speak of him) was expounding a recondite matter to us…” the agent began, finally embracing the comfort of company for the first time in over a hundred years.

**

A while later, Myka placed her book down as she took in the sight of the two Wells’ women sleeping peacefully beside her. Helena’s arm was draped gently across Christina. It was the first time Myka had ever seen the inventor sleep. In the entire time she had known her, Helena was always the last to bed and the first rise. She couldn't be sure the woman actually slept before tonight. She snuggled down into the bed and moved to switch off the lamp before pulling her hand away, thinking better of it. Darkness was not something she was quite ready face.

She tucked her chin on top of Christina’s head and the girl wriggled slightly in her sleep, moving closer to Myka. The agent placed a light kiss on her head before reaching across to rest her hand on top of Helena’s, the warmth of the inventor’s hand comforting. Helena moved her hand to lace her fingers through Myka’s before cracking one sleepy eye open and looking up at the agent.

“I love you,” she said sleepily, before drifting back off.

Myka felt a broad smile break out on her face before closing her eyes to face her dreams.

**

 **The B &B**  
Univille, South Dakota  
April 20, 2014  
10:47am

“I slept fine,” she said gently, “I promise.”

Helena nodded, seemingly satisfied for the moment.

“We are going to have think about getting Christina out of this bed eventually however,” the Inventor said.

“Is that so Miss Wells?” Myka said, her eyes twinkling.  

Helena smirked as Myka pressed back the covers and leant forward, capturing the Brit’s lips in her own and forcing her down onto the bed, cup of coffee still clutched in her hand. 

As she surfaced for air she hovered above the inventor, the Victorian looking decidedly flustered.

“Did you say Pete was entertaining Christina?” she asked, a devilish grin on her face.

“I do believe I did,” the Brit responded, pulling Myka back to her with a smile.

**

Pete looked up to the ceiling as he heard a door close firmly above them.

“Hey kid,” he said to the child standing next to him, flinging batter all over the counter as she mixed furiously, “how do you feel like a real American breakfast?”

The girl looked up, and grinned. “Can we have bacon?” she asked excitedly.

Pete laughed and clapped her on the shoulder, before grabbing his keys and scribbling a quick note.

“Shouldn’t we clean up first?” the kid said, and Pete raised an eyebrow at the girls diligence.

“Nah, your mother will do it,” he chuckled. “She owes me one,” he said as he led her from the house.


	8. An Epilogue...Of Sorts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well kids, we have come to the end. 
> 
> This little project has now become bigger than my last dissertation, and is equally as verbose. Given the state of this epilogue, it's probably a good thing I decided to wrap this up. I should probably apologize in advance for the following. I was a little toasted when I wrote it. It's a prime example of what happens when a sappy drunk gets in front of a keyboard.
> 
> Regardless, I would like to take this opportunity to thank you all for reading and commenting. It has been an absolute pleasure to write for you all, you've been a fabulous audience. 
> 
> Tell your friends, and kudos is always grand. 
> 
> With that, I'll sign off alongside Warehouse 13 which I will sorely miss. 
> 
> If anyone needs to get in touch with me, I'm available on spacedmuch@gmail.com at any time. 
> 
> Keep smiling! If it gets too hard, there's always tequila!

**The B &B**  
Univille South Dakota  
September 21, 2016  
10:00am

“Christina!” Helena called out as she wrestled her way through the front door, juggling numerous bags. “Bugger and blast it,” the inventor swore as she tripped over a pair of shoes in the doorway, almost losing her balance. A perky 11 year old appeared out of nowhere, a broad grin on her face.

“Yes mother?” she said, smirking.

“Don’t you ‘yes mother’ me young lady,” the brunette said, “take these bags,” she said, thrusting two in the girls direction, “and then pick up these shoes if you would,” she scolded, indicating to the child’s Chuck Taylor’s at her feet.

Christina rolled her eyes before doing as she was told. Helena sighed, the girl was getting more and more like her as the years passed.

“Is Myka in the kitchen?” the inventor asked then as she moved towards it, before being rapidly cut off by her daughter. Raising an eyebrow, Helena stared down at the girl suspiciously, demanding an explanation for her erratic behaviour.

“Yeah, but I’m helping,” the girl said as she extracted the remainder of the bags from her mother’s grip. “She said to go sit down, everything is under control.”

Helena looked at her daughter like she had been possessed. “What’s gotten into you this morning?” she asked, eyeing the girl. Christina bowed her head slightly, “Myka said I should start helping more,” she said quietly.

“Yes, and she would be quite right,” she said, “and exactly why is it that when Myka says it you listen, hmmm?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

Christina simply shrugged her shoulders, before shuffling her mother through to the dining room and away from the kitchen.

As Helena passed through the doorway, she found everything was already set up for breakfast, Claudia, Pete and Steve lounging about, cups of coffee in their hand.

“Bout’ time you got back, I was beginning to wonder if you decided to cook them yourself,” Pete said, wrinkling his nose at the thought, referring to the piles of pancakes she had just picked up at his request.

Helena ignored him as she dropped into a seat next to Steve and began pouring herself a cup of tea. She leant back, closing her eyes briefly. She was exhausted. She and Agent Jinks had just spent a week in the field chasing down a particularly nasty artifact, and she was simply happy to be home. She smiled as the conversation continued around her. As she sipped slowly on her tea, her mind cast back to everything that had brought them to this point…

**

 **Boston, Massachusetts**  
April 12, 2015  
11:35pm

“DUCK!” Myka yelled, as Helena hit the deck, narrowly avoiding getting hit in the face with a flying soccer ball.

“Well that was a little close for – “ she began, beginning to raise her head.

“STAY DOWN!” Pete and Myka yelled in unison as the bigger agent ran forward.

“I got this!” Pete called out, moving to intercept the ball that was flying back towards them. It thumped him straight in the chest and sent him flying back onto his ass. He rolled over and pinned the damn thing to the ground as Myka ran over to help him bag it.

As sparks flew, both agents slumped down, exhausted.

“I always hated soccer,” the man grumbled, wincing as he got to his feet.

“Football, darling,” Helena corrected, as she swanned over, leaning down to help Myka to her feet.

“Football, _darling_ ,” Pete mimicked sarcastically. “You do know you’re in America now, right?” he said.

“With the amount of time I spend correcting Christina’s atrocious grammar, it would be hard to forget,” Helena scowled, “and I do wish you’d stop teaching her those ridiculous phrases, by the way.”

“Pete!” Myka said, exasperation in her voice.

“What!?” he responded, his face the picture of innocence. “She’s so cute when she goes all ghetto.”

“Yes, well when I find out who introduced her to Miley Cyrus I’m going to dangle them from the ceiling,” Helena said, “and for goodness’ sake, would someone please tell me what on earth ‘twerking’ is?”

As Pete moved to demonstrate, Myka held up a hand. “For love of god, please don’t,” she pleaded, “There’s only so much mental scarring I can take.”

Helena raised her eyebrow at Myka before the other agent leant close.

“I’ll show you later,” she said, her voice low and her eyes twinkling.

“Ugh!” Pete cried out, “Would you two give it a rest!? I thought LBD was supposed to set in after the first year?”

Both woman whirled around and smacked him simultaneously.

******

**The B &B**  
Univille, South Dakota  
April 12, 2015  
8:45pm

When the three agents returned to the Warehouse that evening, Myka had gone straight up stairs, ordering a limping inventor to sit while she fetched a first-aid kit.

“Ouuuuch,” Claudia had commented as she entered the room, spotting Helena’s torn trousers and bloody knee.

“Yes, that about sums it up,” Helena grinned, in spite of her injury.

“How’d the first mission back go?” the redhead asked as she plonked herself down at the table with a bowl of cereal.

The inventor stared at the bowl of colourful, sugary confectionary and raised an eyebrow at the young agent.

“Wha-?” the young agent mumbled through a mouthful, before swallowing. “Don’t see you in the kitchen H. G,” she sassed, smirking.

“I’d be more than happy to make you something, dear,” the inventor offered.

Claudia blanched, shaking her head while swallowing. “Nah, I’m good Hels,” she said quickly as she gulped down her mouthful.

The inventor looked mildly affronted at the spurn. Her cooking wasn’t _that_ bad. She had taken lessons, and felt she had provided sufficient sustenance for the agents whilst under house arrest.   

“Misshun?” Claude mumbled again over another mouthful. 

“Oh it was splendid, darling,” she said, a broad smile on her face. “Aside from almost being hit in the face with a football,” she winced, before continuing, “it was a rather easy ‘snag, bag and tag.’”

“HA!” Pete scoffed as he entered the dining room. “Says the woman who spent most of her time kissing concrete,” he roared. “You should have seen it Claude, the great and powerful H. G. Wells doing a power slide on asphalt to save her precious Victorian face.”

Helena scowled at the other agent, resisting the urge to get up and smack him.

“Oh lighten up H. G, it’s okay to be a bit rusty. I mean, you must have passed your prime when? About the time they invented the wheel?”

Myka resurfaced just in the nick of time as Helena made for the vase in the middle of the table, beating her to the punch and smacking Pete around the head.

“Ow! Mykes!” he proclaimed, reaching up to rub his ear as Helena grinned in triumph.

“Go have a shower, you stink,” the curly-headed brunette said to him, as she plonked the first-aid kit down on the table and sat opposite Helena, pulling her leg up to rest in her lap. She gently rolled up the inventors slacks and began cleaning her wound.

The inventor hissed, and Myka looked up, but saw only a smile on the older woman’s face.

“Good to be back, isn’t it?” Myka said knowingly.

“Oh, darling you have no idea,” the inventor said as she let out another hiss.

However, Myka _did_ have a pretty good idea.

It hadn’t taken long for Helena to go stir crazy at the B&B once Christina began school. The inventor had been reluctant to let the girl attend, muttering about the American education system and proclaiming that she was perfectly capable of teaching the girl all she needed to know.

It had taken some work, but Myka had eventually convinced her that being with people her own age would help Christina adjust better to life in the 21st century. When the girl came home spouting something about a boy being an “ass” Helena was incensed, although less about the cursing and more about the accent. She had spent the next 30 minutes schooling the girl on the correct pronunciation of “arse” and Myka had sat back laughing.

The day the coffee machine exploded in his face, Artie lost his temper, proclaiming that they either gave the inventor something to do, or the Regents would foot the bill for replacing all of the appliances Helena had taken apart and attempted to upgrade out of sheer boredom.

It had taken some convincing, but after a few meetings, and the backing of the rest of the house who were being driven mad by the inventors constant tinkering (and cooking experiments) the Regent’s had finally agreed to allow Helena back into the Warehouse. After a few months of inventory, and more than a few hiccups along the way, Myka had helped the Victorian put in a request to be returned to the field. They had acquiesced, although she and her infamous partner in crime were still restricted from working together alone.

As far as everyone involved was concerned, it appeared their little jaunt into the 19th century hadn’t caused any long lasting damage that they could recognise, and after some consultation with its inventor about the viability of its repair (to which they were told, “impossible”), the Regent’s made the decision to have the Time Machine destroyed. Myka was horrified at the thought, but Helena couldn’t have been happier. “I built it for one reason, and one reason only darling,” she had said as Myka ranted about the destruction of historical property.

As Myka secured the dressing over Helena’s knee, she smiled at the inventor.

“I’m glad to see you happy,” she said.

“Oh, darling I was always happy!” the Brit exclaimed.

Myka raised an eyebrow at that and Helena had the sense to look a little embarrassed.

Over the past couple of months, her temperament at being cooped up had become progressively worse. She was moody and waspish, and on more than one occasion, they had come to verbal blows. The last one had been over laundry of all things…

**

**2 months prior…**

“This is getting ridiculous,” Myka growled as she picked up yet another scarf off the floor of their bedroom one morning. It had taken some time, but eventually Christina had moved out of Myka’s room and had taken over Helena’s old one, the inventor having permanently relocated. There was little doubt where Helena lived now, and Myka swore she spent half of her days plucking underwear, waist coats, scarves, slacks and shirts from every available surface. The inventor was quickly becoming a nightmare, her mind always off on her next project at the Warehouse as she got testier and testier about having had her wings clipped.

Since regaining access to the Warehouse, the Victorian had set up her own work space and spent hours tinkering on various projects when she wasn’t doing inventory. Artie had given her permission, as long as no artifacts were used without his express permission. She had thrown herself into the work, hoping it would settle her sense of frustration at being trapped in Univille. At least if it had been London, there was the whole city to explore. She was happy to have Myka, but the agent had been more absent than present lately, and she found herself growing more and more impatient with her situation. Since Myka returned from her last mission, they had spent the majority of their time snapping at each other – Helena pissed about being left behind, and Myka angry that the inventor apparently couldn’t manage a single load of laundry while she was away on assignment. The rest of the time, Helena was magically absent, avoiding Myka as much as possible in some childish attempt to let her know she was unhappy with their situation.

That particular morning, the inventor had rushed down stairs, leaving yet another trail of devastation in her wake for Myka to find as she returned from the bathroom. The agent had finally snapped when she tripped on a waistcoat that had somehow tangled itself around her ankles.

“Helena!” Myka had screamed in frustration from the second storey, storming out in her towel to hang out over the railing, directing her voice downstairs.

Steve had watched the inventor as she made for the front door, hoping to catch a lift with him and Artie, and dodge Myka in the process.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Steve had warned over a mouthful of banana as he grabbed his jacket off the hook.

Helena had scowled in the direction of the stairs, knowing exactly what this was about. “It’s just a bit of washing for Pete’s sake,” she said, rolling her eyes and heading for the door.

“Your funeral,” Steve had shrugged as he followed her out to the car.

Myka heard the door downstairs and growled, “Oh you did _not_ just ignore me H. G. Wells.” Gathering up as many of Helena’s dirty clothes as she could find, she decided to match childish for even more childish. She marched across to Christina’s room which overlooked the driveway and stormed over to the window, thrusting it open forcefully.

Christina had rolled over in her bed, looking at the woman like she had gone mad. “Myka?” she said sleepily, knowing she didn’t need to be up for school just yet.

Myka glanced over her shoulder. “Go back to sleep sweetie, your mother and I are just having a _discussion_ ,” she said, her tone dangerous.

Christina had leapt from her bed, running to wake Claudia. The redhead had bolted to Pete’s room, bowling through the door yelling, “Myka’s about to lose her shit! Quick before you miss it!”

The three of them had huddled around the Claudia’s window to watch the fallout. The girl had paused, looking at Christina. “Should she really be watching this?” she said.

“Dude, she’s in the pool!” Pete had said, “and you owe me $20” he said as he elbowed the younger agent out of the way, lifting Christina up to watch.

They heard Myka yell to catch the Victorian’s attention, before flinging an armload of Helena’s laundry out of the window. Pete whooped as they watched the clothing scatter across the driveway, some of it catching in the trees lining edge of the house. He clapped his hands over Christina’s ears as H. G began spewing a string of curses, and Claudia opened the window to lean out further, just in time to catch Myka flip her off before slamming the window shut and storming back to the room she shared with the inventor, slamming that door as well.

The door downstairs opened, and the three of them poked their heads out to watch as Helena struggled inside with some of her clothes in hand, cursing “bugger and blast it!” before dumping everything she had managed to grab and storm through it, heading in Myka’s direction.

“Put the puppy dog eyes on,” Pete had whispered in Christina’s ear as he pushed the girl out to intercept her mother before she said something she would truly regret. Christina stared daggers at him, before sniffing and turning to face her mother, the picture of the upset child. God he loved that kid.

By the time Christina was ready for school, Helena had calmed down, although he couldn’t resist standing by one of the trees, poking a pair of her underwear with a stick as she escorted Christina out of the front door where he was waiting, having volunteered to takeover school run duties for Myka that morning.

“Granny panties H. G? Really?” he had chuckled, dodging as she launched towards him, fully intending to beat him to death with the stick in his hand.

**

 **The B &B**  
Univille, South Dakota  
April 12, 2015  
9:12pm

“Oh alright, so maybe I was a little unhappy,” the inventor mumbled, before looking up through lowered lashes and continuing, “But never with you, my love.”

Myka scoffed, rolling her eyes and Claudia excused herself from the table, proclaiming lamely that she needed more cereal.

After the laundry incident, Myka had forced Helena into a serious conversation, and offered to pull back on her duties to spend more time at home. Helena had vehemently opposed, knowing how much being back in the field had helped Myka readjust to life after the bronze. Helena knew just how hard an extended period in that state truly was. It had taken her years to regain a secure footing in this reality.

The curly-headed brunette had handled the situation unbelievably well, although there were times when the cracks would show, and Helena had sworn to herself that she would be there any and every time it happened.

**

 **Myka and Helena’s Bedroom**  
The B &B  
November 10, 2014  
03:00am

Helena awoke, something feeling out of place. As she rolled over, she spotted Myka sitting next to the window, staring out into space. She watched her for some time, before speaking.

“Are you alright, my love?” she said gently. She watched silently as the agent wiped her eyes hurriedly before answering.

“Just thinking,” she said, her voice cracking under the weight of whatever it was she had been thinking about.

“Would you like to come back to bed?” the inventor asked quietly.

Myka shook her head, “I think I’ll stay up for a little longer,” she said shakily, refusing to turn around and face the Victorian.

“Alright,” Helena replied quietly, before lying back down, watching her agent as her mind whirled with thoughts unknown, thoughts she was always unwilling to share on nights such as these.

The inventor would simply lay in wait, watching and waiting for when she was needed.

Myka had accepted her need to stand by Christina’s door, every evening just to make sure her daughter was truly still with them. In turn, she never said a word about the lamp which stayed on permanently in their bedroom and the occasional night when the American needed time to reflect without interruption.

This was who they were, two strong individuals, still bearing a few scars.

**

 **The B &B**  
Univille, South Dakota  
April 12, 2015  
9:13pm

After their surprisingly adult discussion in the wake of the 'underwear incident' (as Pete had taken to calling it), they made the joint decision to approach Mrs. Fredrick and the Regents about getting the inventor back on limited field duty. Myka had pulled Artie aside later, asking to reduce her field hours anyway. She wanted to ensure that neither Christina or Helena ever felt neglected. She had been spending too much time using work as an out. It was time to start focusing on the reasons she had faced the bronze in the first place to help her through. 

Helena reached across her shredded knee and clasped Myka’s hands. “I mean it Myka, after what you did, I could never – “ she began before the agent cut her off.

“Don’t you dare, Helena. We’ve spoken about this,” she said warningly. “I don’t want to hold the swing vote in every argument for the rest of our lives.”

“You threw my pants in a tree,” Helena deadpanned, and Myka burst out laughing at the serious look on the inventor’s face.

“Come on you,” she said, putting the inventor’s leg down gently before helping her to her feet. “Christina needs help with her maths homework, and that’s more your department than mine.”

As they stood, Helena held Myka in place and cocked her head slightly.

“Save it for later,” Myka said quietly, catching the emotion in the inventor’s eye before leaning forward and kissing her deeply.

Claudia smiled from the doorway before turning back into the kitchen in search of more cereal.

**

**3 months later…**

With everyone back on active duty, Christina began spending more and more time in the Warehouse, and her curiosity knew no ends. Claudia taught her computers, while Artie coached her in piano. Trailer followed the girl around everywhere, and they eventually had to intervene when the dog started getting noticeably fat.

When they were all in the Warehouse, thankful for a quiet day, Artie had turned to Myka demanding an explanation. “I don’t understand it, what on Earth has she been feeding him!?”

The agent didn’t dare say a word until the inventor was out of sight, shuffling Christina out of the office and ordering her to take the dog for a walk around the Warehouse, “and don’t touch anything for goodness’ sake!”

When Helena was out of earshot, she had leant close to Artie. “Helena decided to start making her lunch,” she whispered with a mischievous grin. Artie roared with laughter, still wiping the tears from his face as the Brit had returned.

“And just what exactly is so funny?” she had demanded, suspicion written all over her face.

“Nothing, dear,” Myka had said sweetly, before turning promptly back to her research.

Overall, they had settled into being the perfectly dysfunctional family the Warehouse had always been.

**

 **The B &B **  
Univille, South Dakota  
September 21, 2016  
10:15am

As they all finally sat down for breakfast, Helena sat back and took in the scene before her. Pete and Myka were bickering over maple syrup again, while Claudia was telling a wild tale about a man Steve had met two weeks prior while they were out on assignment. “I can't believe I forgot to tell you! You should have seen him Helena! I mean, if I had a – “ she stopped suddenly, looking over at Christina who had a forkful of pancake halfway to her mouth and was watching with very keen eyes. “Well, anyway, you get where I’m going yeah?” she asked then.

“Indeed I do dear,” she said chuckling, grinning at Steve who had dropped his head into his hands.

As she took in the sight before her, her mind drifted back to a day, over two years before, at this very table. She had been right then; it had been time to stop hiding and start living. Yet, even then, she couldn’t have imagined how happy this dysfunctional group of misfits could have made her. This was the ‘normal’ life she had been searching for since that fateful day in July, 1899 when she had lost everything. Over a hundred years later, she had finally found it. The past two and a half years had passed just as it should. Bering and Wells, solving puzzles, saving the day, bickering, laughing, loving, and raising “one hell of a kid,” as Pete would say.

“ _Change the rules, my dear,”_ a voice echoed back at her from the past.

“Change the rules indeed, dear friend,” she whispered, smiling as she looked up at Myka, catching the brunette’s eyes and smiling. “I love you,” she mouthed across the table. The agent laughed, “I know,” she mouthed back. Helena looked around then, her brow crinkling slightly as she noted an absence at the table. “Where’s Arthur? These pancakes are going cold,” she said petulantly.

“Oh yeah, because it took _sooo_ much effort for you to drive all the way to the Pancake House to pick them up H. G,” Pete said sarcastically. Myka smacked him before standing up, “I’ll go check,” she said before Christina got to her feet. “I’ll come!” the 11 year old said before following Myka out.

“What on Earth was all that about?” Helena said, staring after the two brunettes who walked quickly out of the room. It was rare Wednesday in which there had been no pings, no emergencies, and everyone was home at the same time. Helena had acquiesced and called into Christina’s school, proclaiming a stomach bug. Myka had mocked her about still being a sucker for the puppy dog eyes as they lay in bed that morning.

They had been up particularly early that morning, and she certainly hadn’t been complaining. September had been a particularly busy month and they had been on rotation, ensuring one of them had been home for Christina, and in turn ensuring that they had barely seen each other except in passing. When she and Steve returned last night, she could have sworn it was the first time she and Myka had slept in the same bed all month. She smiled as her mind drifted to earlier that morning before Arthur, Myka and Christina walked back into the dining room, an obscenely large cake held aloft, with an even more obscene number of candles.

“Oh Christ!” Helena swore as she looked down at her watch and looked at the date.

“Happy Birthday H. G!” the chorus went up, before the table launched into an atrociously out of tune version of Happy Birthday, Pete taking great liberties with the lyrics at her expense.

“Happy 150th Helena,” Myka whispered into her ear as Christina leapt into her lap to help with candles.

“You’re all awful, you realize that, don’t you?” Helena said sternly, the tears in her eyes giving her away.

“Blow out your candles H. G, there’s enough there to start the Great Fire of London. Oh, but you were there for that, right?” Pete said with a broad grin on his face.

“Oh do shut up Lattimer!” she chuckled, in spite of herself, sniffling as she pulled Myka down to her and gripped Christina closer. She looked up at the rest of the delinquents surrounding her, before indicating to the quickly melting candles before her.

“If you all don’t mind, I could use a little assistance,” she said through another sniffle.

“Awwwwwwwwwww!” Pete and Claudia said in unison, before grabbing Artie and Steve and pulling them over.

Like many fires before, they all put this one out.

Together.

**

 **Warehouse 13**  
Univille, South Dakota  
April 15, 2034  
07:30am

Claudia rounded the corner to the bronze sector and smiled at the tall agent standing there, staring at the bronzer.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” the Caretaker said quietly as she walked to stand next to the curly-headed brunette.

The agent ran a hand through her hair, reminiscent of both of her mothers.

“20 years, in fact,” Christina Wells said, a hint of her biological mother’s accent slipping through.

The Caretaker nodded. “Sorry I haven’t been around for a while,” she apologised.

“Yeah, thanks for that by the way. You do realise those two have only gotten worse in their old age?”

Claudia laughed, “I have no doubt.”

“You’re the one who put them charge. Honestly, you should have just left it to Myka, it might have saved me on the referee duties,” she scowled at the woman she considered to be her older sister.

Claudia laughed, knowing exactly what the girl was referring to.

Christina scowled, “I’m seriously reconsidering that Cambridge Law scholarship,” she said petulantly, every bit her mother’s daughter.  

“Oh yeah, I can just see it now. Christina Wells. _Lawyer_ ,” she laughed mockingly. “Although I would have paid to see your mother’s face. She was adamant it was MIT or nothing.”

Christina rolled her eyes, “tinkering is her thing, it was never mine.”

Claudia put a hand on the woman’s shoulder, “you always were more Myka than Helena,” she said. “Although that personality is _all_ H. G,” she said with a chuckle.

Christina swung out hand and slapped Claudia on the stomach.

“Ow!” she said, giving the woman a light shove, before she returned her attention back to the bronzer.

“Did you ever miss it?” Claudia asked then; genuinely curious, “we always kind of avoided that topic around your mother.”

“The 19th century?” Christina asked.

“Yeah, it was still home, right?” the redhead said then.

“Not like here,” Christina said, as she turned to smile genuinely at the Caretaker of Warehouse 13.

“This will _always_ be home.”


End file.
